


Beguiled

by E_J_Frost



Category: Taboo (TV 2017)
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Past Abuse, Romance, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Torture, War of 1812
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 211,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_J_Frost/pseuds/E_J_Frost
Summary: What was James Delaney doing during all those time gaps in "Taboo"? Here's my take on how he spent his days. Everything proceeds according to the Devil Delaney's plan, even love. Or does it?Starts during Countess Musgrove's ball in Episode Four. Interwoven throughout the rest of Season One.Legal disclaimer: the characters, plot, images and scenarios in “Taboo” belong to their various copyright owners. I make no claim on them and do not intend to profit from the use of them in this work of transformative fiction. All other characters are mine; kindly seek my permission if you plan to use them.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Even through the spinning, braying crowd, James noticed her. An island of unsmiling calm. Cool, pale colours: blonde and blue, cream and peach, gold and sea-foam green, set her apart from the garish crowd. James found his eyes resting on her, absorbing her tranquillity, even while Lorna Bow and Chomondeley both tried to catch his eye.

Her eyes, a very pale blue, more Saxon than Anglo, met his. She didn’t smile, but held his eyes and nodded once in acknowledgement.

Countess Musgrove dragged him into the magician’s cabinet. When he escaped, with the Countess’s threats still souring the taste of the wine in his mouth, he did not see her. Chomondeley was reeling around the dance floor, plying his bags of gas. James caught sight of Zilpha and her rooster of a husband. The husband looked worse for the wine and gas: eyes too bright, face too flushed.

A hand caught his arm and turned him away from the ugly tableau.

“I’m told you do not dance, Mr. Delaney,” she said, steering him towards the portico from where the Countess had summoned him. “So I wonder if you would take a turn with me? There is a pleasant walk through the gardens to the pond.”

“Have we been introduced, madam?” James asked coolly, but he slid his hand over her kidskin glove where it rested on his forearm, to keep her at his side in case she took offense.

“No, Mr. Delaney. Is my presumption unforgiveable?” She had a low voice, clear and melodious, without any discernable accent.

“Not if you give me your name now.”

“Mrs. Caroline Grant.”

“How d’you do, Mrs. Grant,” James said, with careful courtesy.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Delaney.”

He smiled, pleased by her manners. She glanced down while they navigated the steps to the garden walk, then looked up into his eyes.

James felt the spark, the incendiary quickening, which jumped between them. He had been aware of her as they moved. The gentle press of her side against his arm. The susurrus of her silken gown. The faint, floral fragrance rising from her cleavage. But after that spark, every impression was magnified, as though through a great lens. She filled his senses. Instead of maddening him, as did his lust for Zilpha, or repulsing him, as did the filth of the city, she soothed him. Looking at her, James felt as if he had emerged from the sea: salt-scoured, clear-eyed and refreshed.

“Mr. Delaney,” she breathed, and he knew that she had seen too much of what he felt.

“Was there a particular reason you wished to meet me, Mrs. Grant?” he asked, to open a little distance between them, although he kept a firm hold on her hand. “Other than a chance to see the Countess’s pond? Or, was it actually a chance to meet the most infamous man in London?”

“Surely not the most infamous, Mr. Delaney. I believe Mr. Brummell still holds that distinction. But I will admit that I had a particular reason for wishing to meet you. I believe you have met my compatriots, Doctor Dumbarton and, of course, the Countess.”

“Ah,” James said. “A Republican.”

“By both birth and sympathy, sir.”

James gave a low grunt. She didn’t sound like a Colonial, so she must have lived in London for some time, or received a good tuition.

“I also believe, and you may correct me if I misapprehend, that my compatriots have been less than courteous in their approaches. I would like to apologize for their tactlessness, and make amends, if I may?”

“And how would you make amends, Mrs. Grant?”

“I understand that you asked to meet with the embassy in Paris. Refusal of that request was short-sighted on my compatriot’s part. I depart for Paris in three weeks. I have been promised an introduction to the man himself, Mr. Crawford. I wonder if you would like to join my party, Mr. Delaney?”

“I should like that very much.”

She sighed and adjusted her silk shawl with her free hand. “Does that go some way to making amends?”

“A very great way, thank you.”

With a gentle increase of pressure on his forearm, she stopped him and James realised they’d reached the promised pond. It was dark and still, and seemed notable only for an absence of ducks.

“We should go back now,” she said.

“We should,” James agreed.

“But you are the infamous James Delaney, and you flout all convention.”

“In this matter, we will observe convention,” James replied, aware that they had flouted convention by walking away from the party, and that, already, he did not want ugly speculation to touch this woman. So instead of doing as he wished, he turned and began guiding her down the crushed shell path back to the house.

She said nothing as they walked, keeping pace with him despite his longer stride. Moving in the soft susurrus of her skirts, the subtle cloud of her fragrance. He knew he would lose her sounds, her scents, to the raucous noise and mingled perfumes of the party. Before he lost that awareness, he slowed his steps and looked down at her. “Observing convention,” he said. “I should like to call on you tomorrow at four o’clock, if convenient.”

“I would be pleased to receive you.” She met his gaze and the prickle ran along his nerves again, coalescing at his groin in a manner that would deprive him of sleep tonight. “Will you stay to dine?”

“Unfortunately, I have urgent business tomorrow evening.”

“Of course,” she said, looking away.

James touched her chin with his free hand to bring her eyes back to his. “I do, have urgent business. Which I will seek to conclude as quickly as possible, so that, should I receive another such invitation, I will be free to accept.”

She smiled, causing a thrumming along his nerves and a pulse at his groin.

Slowly, he returned her smile.

Returning to the party was a fresh form of torture. A flaying of nerves newly sensitised. That it ended on the lawn they had just traversed, with Zilpha’s wet-eyed, red-faced husband challenging him to a duel was, he reflected, no more than he should have expected. Never had pleasure followed pleasure in James’s experience. Bad invariably followed good.

James did not see her in the crowd on the Countess’s portico steps, as Thorne Geary insulted him and then demanded satisfaction. Nor was she among the small crowd clustered on the riverbank, who watched him row away with hungering eyes. Fighting the duel might lose him her invitation, he realised.

Losing it certainly would.

 

At five minutes to four, James mounted the marble steps of a Georgian townhouse on Harley Street. It was well-appointed, separated from its neighbours by a small park and high, wrought-iron fences. The house itself was unprepossessing: neither an ostentatious pile like the house to the north, nor knocking shoulders with its neighbours to the south. James realised that he was looking at true wealth: privacy, in the heart of London.

Before he could knock, the front door was opened by an Indian in a red turban and gold-braided tunic. The Sikh bowed low to James and sombrely accepted one of the calling cards that James had hastily obtained after ensuring the loyalty of Atticus’s men and the whores.

“Mrs. Grant is expecting you, Mr. Delaney,” the Sikh said in perfect English. “She is in the parlour. Please let me take your hat and coat.”

James doffed his outerwear and followed the Sikh down a short hallway decorated in cream and teal blue. A woven silk carpet muffled his steps. Natural light illuminated the fine paper on the walls and several framed pictures. James expected portraits or religious themes, but when he peered at the canvases as he passed, he found seascapes. He wondered if Mrs. Grant actually liked the sea, or if she just thought the pictures were pretty.

The Sikh led him through an open door, into a large sitting room, just as elegantly appointed as the hall. The décor fit with what James had managed to learn about his hostess this afternoon from a hasty _reconnoitre_ , punctuated by his visit to the stationer, which had cost him whatever chance at sleep he might have had after the ball and duel. Caroline Grant was known for modesty, good taste and discretion, despite her low birth. She had been born Caroline Henrietta Morris, of the Philadelphia Morrises. Her family were primarily wine merchants, and it was with a cargo of Spanish wine that Miss Morris and her spinster aunt had come to London in 1804, a year that James himself spent in chains as a slave of the _Asante_. On arriving in England, Miss Morris had attended a ladies’ seminary for three years, a practice popular in the city of her birth, but frowned upon by the _ton_ , which marked her as an Original on her entrance to the marriage mart in 1807. She was not the reigning belle of her Season – she was too well-read, too opinionated and too low-born to be Society’s darling – but still among her suitors counted two Barons and the second son of a Duke. Her status as an Original was sealed when she chose for her husband a man not twice but three times her age, his baronetcy so freshly minted the paint on his coat of arms was still wet. While the _ton_ might believe that it was Mr. Grant’s fortune – the man’s interests had stretched from the mines of Derbyshire to the ships of Bristol – that had attracted Caroline’s attention, James wondered if she’d done something even more original: married the old man for love.

All of James’s informants agreed that Mr. Grant had doted on his young wife. She, for her part, served not only as his hostess, garnering the favour of the powerful Lamb family with her teas and card nights, but also as his constant companion. She rarely left his side, traveling with him to such unfashionable destinations as Manchester and Madeira. On one of these trips, Mr. Grant contracted a cough, which led to congestion of the lungs. Mrs. Grant removed her husband to Italy, in the hopes that the climate would repair his health. Instead, she buried him before the winter was out, and returned to London in 1811. Where society might have expected her to enjoy her status as a wealthy widow – wealth that one of James’s informants estimated exceeded three thousand pounds a year on the five percents, although no one seemed to know the source or true extent of her wealth – instead she observed a full year of mourning. Her devotion earned her a voucher to Almack’s, when she finally cast off the black.

Looking at her as she rose from her seat in one of the armchairs set close to the fire, pale, cool and graceful, he could see neither the old man’s nursemaid, nor the passionate libertarian. He could see the Original, in the slim volume of Voltaire she placed on a table as she rose. And in her reception: it was not a tea service on the table between the armchairs, but rather a pot of fragrant coffee, and a brandy decanter. He could see the Original, but nothing more, and he wondered at what she concealed.

“Good day,” James greeted her.

She inclined her head and dipped him a perfect curtsey, which made James smile to himself. In this crass and impolite city, her good manners were a balm. The curtsey gave him a further moment to observe her. She was wearing a silk gown in robin’s egg blue, patterned with gold and cream butterflies. The dress bared a bosom creamier than the butterflies, and emphasized the long, slight lines of her body. An ivory comb secured her blonde hair, coiled very thickly at her nape. When unbound, James guessed, the heavy mass would fall to her waist. A few wisps touched her forehead and cheeks, but none of the curls or frizz that the actress and her contemporaries favoured. Her sleek, simple coif reminded him of Zilpha’s hairstyle at Countess Musgrove’s ball. Sunshine to darkness.

When he pulled himself out of his musings, James found her pale eyes on him.

“May I offer you a seat by the fire, and refreshment, Mr. Delaney?” she asked quietly.

“Thank you.” James took the proffered seat, and coffee, when she poured for him.

She set a plate of shortbreads at his elbow, arranged a silk shawl around her hips, and sat back in her armchair with her own cup.

“I wondered if you would still receive me after the events of this morning,” he said.

“You are not the first man in London to fight a duel, Mr. Delaney, although you are perhaps the most recent. If I excluded all duellists from my society, I should be very lonely indeed.”

James felt the corners of his mouth curl at her humour and covered it with a sip of coffee.

“I collect that Mr. Geary attained his satisfaction?” she asked.

“Not in the manner he intended,” James allowed, watching the pulse beat in her pale throat and wondering if she would be so Original as to let him bite it hard enough to leave a mark.

“And you managed to flush another of John Company’s birds,” she continued, unaware of his wicked intentions. “Mr. Hope was not known to work for the East India.”

“He was wearing regimental colours. He could not have been ignorant of how to load a ball,” James replied. She met his eyes and he felt that incendiary rush along his nerves again. His errands today had dulled the ache in his groin, but watching her, seeing the light in her eyes, made it quicken.

“No, indeed,” she said after a moment. “He served in the same regiment as your half-sister’s husband, if without distinction.”

“Mmm.” James moderated his usual grunt to a low hum, for the sake of politeness, and wondered if she had mentioned Zilpha to throw cold water on the fire between them, or merely as a point of information.

“The East India’s arm is long, and its pockets deep. Yet you seem unafeared of either, and you tilt at them as though their equal. It is quite remarkable, Mr. Delaney.”

“Is it much remarked upon, Mrs. Grant?” James asked, setting down his cup and leaning forward so she could not avoid his eyes.

“By whom, sir?” she asked, with a little mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “By Doctor Dumbarton and the good Countess? By Lord Liverpool and his ministers? By the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s?”

“Not the last, I’d imagine,” James said.

“Then you would be mistaken,” she said. “Not in the hall, of course. Politics are strictly _verboten_. But Countess Cowper remarked upon your boldness on Thursday when she came to tea. From that you may discern that you have come to the notice of Lord Melbourne, Lady Cowper’s brother, and the Whigs.”

James shrugged. “The opposition cannot offer me a monopoly on tea, so their notice is inconsequential. What is of consequence is that a Lady Patroness knows my name, and may come to know of my call on you today.” James was aware again of a strange frisson: wanting to protect this woman, even if only from gossip. “Will that not be remarked upon?”

She lifted her shoulder, in a slide of silk on skin that released the faint, citrus-sweet scent of orange blossoms. “By those who delight in remarking upon such things. But, as you have no doubt heard, I am an Eccentric. Associating with the infamous is the role of an Eccentric. So that the Lady Patronesses may claim an association, without actually exposing their delicate reputations to your infamy.”

James moderated his grunt into a hum again. “My infamy is likely to deepen before this thing is done. I would not want you to lose your voucher.”

She held out her hand, and for a moment James felt a wild quickening that she would invite that which he wanted most in this moment. Was she such an Original?

But no, she took his empty cup and refilled it. James forced himself to let out the breath he found himself holding.

“I have no desire to remarry, Mr. Delaney, and no daughter to launch into Society, so I have no need for an Almack’s voucher,” she said, handing him the full cup. “Besides, the sandwiches are terribly dry.”

“And the conversation dull, if one cannot talk politics,” James said.

“Extremely. Please do not concern yourself on my behalf, Mr. Delaney.”

He decided to take her declaration at face-value, at every level she might have offered it. “Why don’t you want to remarry?” he asked.

She gave him another smile over the edge of her cup, and it was not his fancy that there was a touch of the ingénue she must have been once to it. “Should I say that it is because I value my freedom too greatly? Or because I could never commit to just one man, when there are so many to choose from?”

James found he did not like this hint of coquette from her. “Just tell me the truth,” he said roughly.

She straightened in her chair, and nodded to herself. “The truth is that Mr. Grant was an exceptionally kind husband. He let me have my own way not just in my republican sympathies but also in my fascination for the unwomanly art of business. I could not sacrifice either for the sake of another husband, Mr. Delaney.”

James didn’t ask if she would have to. He knew well that a husband would control not just her fortune, but also her politics. “You are very resolute, madam, to hold your passions above the promise of a husband and family.”

“Ah.” She tapped her fingernail against the edge of her cup. “That is another truth. I cannot have children, so there is no promise of a family for me. At least not a family of my own.”

“I am sorry,” James said, finding himself responding almost painfully to her honesty.

“Not having to devote myself to the usual concerns of womanhood has freed me to pursue my passions, as you call them. Which is, of course, why you are here. The Countess will convey your offer, and an acceptance, or a counteroffer, will wind its way to these shores in due course, but I appreciate that such attenuated negotiation may be unsatisfactory. Is that why you wish to meet with the envoy to France? So you may have a more direct negotiation?”

“I seek certain assurances, which have limited value via intermediaries. Particularly intermediaries who have tried to have me killed.”

She bowed her head, leaving James free to study her. “Let me apologise again. The Countess acted rashly, and outside the bounds of her authority, in sending that unfortunate man against you.”

“And would you have condoned it, had you known?” he asked softly.

“No. Despite being born in Philadelphia, I am not a Quaker, Mr. Delaney, and I accept that sometimes killing is necessary for the greater good. But death in war, on the battlefield, and death in a dark alley, from an assassin’s knife, are different things. I accept the necessity of the former, not the latter.”

“I appreciate the distinction, Mrs. Grant.”

“Please, call me Caroline,” she demurred, looking up at him again. “If we are to be travelling companions, you must call me by my given name.”

 _I will call you linnet_ , thought James. _For your sweet song and lack of pretensions_ , _and_ _for the bright red breast you hide beneath your drab_. “And you must call me James.” _When you lie under me, and wrap your legs around me, and sing your pleasure, you will call me James_.

As before, she read too much of his thoughts in his eyes. Instead of looking away, she held his eyes openly and honestly, and James felt again that sense of being washed clean. _There will be nothing dark about your passion, linnet_ , he thought. _It will be as open and honest as your gaze, and as refreshing_.

James found himself desiring that refreshment more than any food or drink he’d been offered in this gluttonous city.

“May I ask you something, Caroline?” he said, to test her name on his tongue. When she dipped her head, he asked, “If you are free to invite me to accompany you to France, and the Countess is free to send the giant against me, how am I to trust any assurances I receive from Republicans? You appear to lack unity. Much like the Free Fifteen.”

“We are a democratic organization,” she admitted. “But we each have our own spheres, and you would have been within mine, except that Monsieur Colonnade does not know my name, so he gave you the Countess’s moniker instead. Doctor Dumbarton conveyed you to her, as per your request, when he should have given you to me. But in fairness, I was travelling on business, only returning yesterday, and he judged the matter to be urgent. On discovering their mishandling, I hastened to approach you.”

“Indeed, if you returned only yesterday, how did you make such a quick discovery?” James asked.

She lifted the volume of Voltaire and let it fall open between her hands to reveal a hollow core, filled with tiny notes, hand-delivered instead of posted. “I am a quick study. And I know the secret of the Countess’s vanishing cabinet, and the place to stand under the concealing drapes so that one can hear what is being said within.”

“Ah,” James drawled. “Not a student of Voltaire, then.”

“I am very much a student of Voltaire. I have read all of his works, several times. Would you like me to recite them for you?”

James felt his mouth quirk at her little flare of temper, and did not bother to conceal it this time. “If we are to travel to Paris together, then we will have time for such recitation. I have read very little Voltaire, and would appreciate the education.” _In turn, I will tutor you in all the ways a man and woman may pleasure each other_ , James thought. _Although that education must begin before our travels, for I cannot wait three weeks_.

Caroline touched her fingers to her lips, and blood swooped to her cheeks. _She sees it_ , James thought. _She feels it. And she does not fear it_.

“Caroline,” he said, to see her blush deepen. “I do have business tonight, which cannot wait. But before I go, I would ensure that I am free to call on you again, in the morning, when you rise.”

“I rise and breakfast by nine,” she said. “James.”

He closed his eyes for a moment to savour the thrill of hearing his name from her lips. When he opened his eyes again, she was looking at him, her eyes glowing, her lips parted and her breath quickened enough to press the slight swell of her breasts up against the neckline of her gown. Her directness made it impossible for him to leave without tasting her, as he had intended.

He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, drew her to her feet. “Linnet,” he said, using the name he had already given her in his mind, and feeling the tiny tremor that ran through her in response. “You know I value courtesy, and would not offer you any insult. So I will ask you once, and never again, for after this one time, I will take what I want.” She nodded, and he felt that quick tremble again. “May I kiss you, Caroline?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her soft breath pattering against his chin.

He took what she offered, the dry, yielding warmth of her lips, and the moist warmth within when she opened to him. She tasted of the cinnamon that had been ground into her very fine coffee. A taste James greedily sucked from her tongue. He touched her shoulder and waist – lightly – giving her an opportunity to retreat if an embrace was too much. When she moved closer, he tightened his hands, crushing her to his chest. The press of her breasts, unfettered by a corset, was softer than James had imagined, and he felt that sweet pressure run down his chest to bind his groin in a band of iron.

Her tutelage could not begin quickly enough. James knew he’d get no rest until it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I loved “Taboo,” I was disappointed with the ending. Although Episode Eight was enjoyable for its maniac, explosive energy, it seemed to me to betray a lot of the careful set-up of the earlier episodes. I felt this was particularly true of the sub-plot concerning the conflict between the East India Company and the Crown, to which much of Episode Two was devoted. So I started re-writing the ending, providing James with an alternative ship and a different form of revenge against Sir Stuart Strange. That led backwards and before I knew it, I had a novel. So here it is.  
>    
>  _Historical notes:_  
>    
>  My characters, Caroline Grant ( _nee_ Morris) and her deceased husband, Richard, are not based on real historical figures, although there were plenty of Grants and Morrises running around Regency England and the Morris family of Philadelphia were wine merchants (among other things). Some other characters, particularly members of the prominent Lamb family, were well-known personages of the time. When James refers to Caroline Lamb’s “dagger scene” later in the story, he’s referring to an incident that took place the year before “Taboo” is set when Lady Caroline Lamb, having been spurned and then insulted by her former lover, Lord Byron, at a dinner party they were both attending, broke a wine glass and slashed her wrists (she didn’t succeed in seriously injuring herself, and Lord Byron, at least, accused her of play-acting). It was a well-publicised scandal at the time (as was Lord Byron’s sexual relationship with his half-sister Augusta, which makes one wonder how “taboo” those sorts of relationships actually were). My Caroline would have known exactly what James was referring to, even without being an acquaintance of Caroline Lamb’s sister-in-law, Emily Clavering-Cowper.   
>    
>  Since I’m writing about Regency England (and now live in England myself), I’ve decided to use (modern) British spellings. I hope this isn’t confusing for American readers.  
>    
>  Pronunciations shift over time, and certainly have over the last 200 years. Although the pronunciation of “Caroline” in the early 1800s is the subject of some debate (I note the Regency rhyme, ‘Queen Caroline, Queen Caroline/ Washed her hair in turpentine,’ which gives credence to the ‘Caro-line’ pronunciation), I’ve gone with ‘Caro-lyn’ for my heroine, which gives rise to James’s nickname for her. And with all due deference to the show, they got it wrong in Episode Eight when poor, burned Mr. Cholmondeley deliriously apologises to his lost sweetheart: “Maria” was pronounced ‘Mah-RY-ah,’ not ‘Mar-ee-ah,’ at the time. The BBC did this more faithfully in their excellent 1995 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice” (which also has Colin Firth running around wet and partially clothed a lot of the time, so it’s well worth watching).  
>    
>  Travel in the time before cars was a great deal slower than we’re used to. To keep from boring a modern audience, both the show and I have compressed travel times. Riding to Kew Gardens and back would have been a day’s outing, and I fully appreciate that a carriage journey from Marylebone to Wapping Wall, even in a relatively speedy phaeton, would have taken a great deal longer than I’ve portrayed it. I hope these liberties don’t undermine the story.   
>    
>  Finally, although I have a degree in English Romantic literature, Thomas Hardy was more my thing than Jane Austen, so I apologise for any anachronisms that stem from my more thorough knowledge of the latter half of the century than the first. If any Regency era devotees read this and notice errors, please leave me a comment and I’ll fix. I hate historical inaccuracies!


	2. Chapter 2

With the treaty finally in his hands, and a summons from Doctor Dumbarton that was far too imperious for a republican in his pocket, James mounted the steps of the Harley Street townhouse at five minutes to nine. Impatience quickened his steps, and James fisted his hands at his sides as he fought for control. Impatience would not bring his linnet to hand. She was not a whore, to be tumbled after the exchange of a few coppers. Nor was she a virgin girl, as Zilpha had been, to be chased and coaxed and teased until she finally spread her legs. Caroline was a worldly woman who would expect to be courted, and for all his broad experience, James had no idea of how to court her.

As before, the Sikh opened the door as James reached the top step. The man bowed low, and took James’s coat and hat. But instead of showing James into the parlour, the Sikh gestured up the wide front stair. “Mrs. Grant awaits you in her sitting room, sir.”

 _She allows me all the liberties of a lover_ , James thought as he mounted the steps. _Inviting me into her private rooms. Maybe she needs little courting_.

At the top of the stair, the Sikh guided James to the left, opened the second door and bowed again before closing it behind James.

Caroline rose from a cream silk armchair, set before a window that overlooked the gardens and filled the room with the day’s bright light. James saw that she did allow him all the liberties of a lover. She was in charming _deshabille_ , with her unbound hair flowing in a pale wave over her shoulders, wearing only a rose-coloured dressing robe. It was no more revealing than her evening gown of the previous day – in fact, the robe covered more; the gown had bared her arms – but the informality and intimacy of it was unmistakeable.

Despite her undress, she showed him perfect courtesy, dipping a curtsey and offering him a seat in an armchair that was the mate of hers, placed on the far side of a round table that was set for breakfast.

Set for two, James realised after he greeted her and took the proffered chair.

“I did not know if you would have breakfasted. Would you care for anything?”

He nodded as he examined the dishes. Eggs, porridge, toast, fruit preserves, tea and hot chocolate. James was pleased to find no bacon on her breakfast table, and he wondered if she simply didn’t eat meat in the morning, or if she knew of his disdain for pork.

“Some of everything,” he said.

She served him first, and then herself, and they ate in pleasant silence, broken only by the clink of silver and china.

When James was replete, he sat back with a pot of hot chocolate in his hands and watched her spread marmalade on a piece of toast. “I haven’t eaten so well since returning to London. Thank you.”

“London has offered you a very poor welcome, then. Have none of your father’s old companions invited you to dine?”

“Not one. By the end, my father had no companions, only creditors.”

Caroline bowed her head, and James was free to look at her. Her skin was as pale and fine as her china, and she wore no maquillage, not even the rose tint on her lips that he’d faintly tasted the day before. Her porcelain skin was firm over high cheekbones and a delicate jaw, which gave her face a childlike cast, but he saw the faint folds at the corners of her eyes and bracketing her mouth, which marked her as a woman, rather than a girl.

“I am sorry,” she said. “It’s strange, is it not, how quickly a man’s boon companions forget that friendship, when illness or ill-fortune befalls their former companion?”

“You’ve seen it,” James said.

She nodded. “When my husband fell ill. His former companions, who were happy to drink his brandy and eat his beef when he was well, forgot him. When his doctors advised I remove him to Italy, it was only Lady Cowper who offered her assistance. None of the _gentlemen_ who had dined at his table only short months before even came to condole with me. Lady Cowper was no more than an acquaintance at the time, but she showed me extraordinary kindness.”

“And since your return, she has been your friend,” James inferred, wondering if a Whig connection could further his plans after all.

“She is a Countess and the daughter of a Viscount. I am the daughter of a wine merchant. She has shown me great condescension, but I would never mistake it for friendship.”

James grunted. He’d forgotten, during his years in Africa, how sharp Society’s divisions could be.

“And you, James? Have you found friendship since returning to London?” she asked softly.

“None,” he admitted. “I’ve found many who were willing to whore for the gold I offered them, but none who offered true friendship.” He watched her to see how she reacted to his rough language, and was pleased when she neither flinched nor smiled.

Instead, she put down her teacup and offered him her hand. “Then let me be the first,” she said.

“Friendship is not what I require from you, madam,” James responded, before he took her hand.

“I am aware,” she said mildly. “I’m not a virgin, James. I see how you look at me and I know what it means—”

“You return my looks just as boldly,” James said, wondering if she would play the coquette after all. His frisson of desire cooled; he had no liking for her in that role. It was a role consigned in his mind to Zilpha, and he found himself liking his sister in that role less and less, now that he’d met Caroline Grant.

“As I said, I’m not a virgin. Besides.” She dropped her voice and said in a whisper, clutching his hand but not meeting his eyes. “You are the most beautiful, most bewitching man I have ever met. I have no notion of how to snare you, and yet I know I will regret it forever if I do not try.”

Her admission stopped James’s breath. She was as open and honest as he had hoped. Only uncertain of how to deal with him, and perhaps, a little shy. “Madam, you have no need of seduction.”

“No?” she asked. Her eyes lifted to his and that constant sparking along his nerves exploded like the gunpowder Chomondeley was currently mixing.

“No.” He stood and drew her to her feet. “Come.”

“Is it to be now?” she breathed, looking up at him.

“Yes,” he said. “Right now.”

“Is it to be just the once?” she asked. “Forgive my indelicacy, James. I just need to gird myself if it is.”

 _Once will be the barest taste of you. A drop on my parched tongue. A hundred times might not be enough to quench my thirst_ , he thought.

“There is no need to gird yourself, madam,” James replied.

Lightly, on her slippered tiptoes, she drew him through an adjoining door, into her bedroom. He matched her lightness of step, making no noise as he crossed the carpeted floor. He thought she moved lightly to avoid alerting the servants, but she made no attempt to silence the door as she opened it and closed it behind him, and the squeak of the door’s hinges was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet house. When she did not flinch at the noise, James realised that she was treading lightly not because she feared the servants’ gossip, but because she was still uncertain of him.

 _I will leave you in no uncertainty_ , he thought.

In her bedroom, full of the same golden light as her sitting room, glowing in tones of peach and rose, she led him directly to the bed. If he’d expected a narrow widow’s bed, he was pleasantly surprised at the wide, well-sprung bed that awaited him. _Her marital bed_ , he thought, _and if she slept with her husband in that bed, in this room he furnished to please her, then it was a love match_.

At the bed, she paused, and he saw the tremor that ran through her. Then she gripped her resolve as she gripped the ribbons of her robe and began to untie them.

“Wait,” he said. “I want that pleasure.” He took her hands and brought them to his chest. “Do not believe me immune to your compliments, madam. If you find me beautiful, undress me, and look your fill.”

“Oh,” she breathed. She flattened her palms on his chest. He’d worn the cleanest and least ragged of his shirts and waistcoats to call on her, but no necktie or cravat, and her fingertips rested on the bare skin at his throat. She stroked his skin very lightly, following the movement with her eyes, and sighed. “You’re so warm, James.”

“Indeed, I feel fevered, madam.”

She slid her fingers under the open neck of his shirt and slowly spread her hands. Her fingertips lingered on the curved scar over his left collarbone. “Will you—“ she began.

“Will I tell you about the scars? No. They are the past.”

“Will you be bothered, or hurt, if I touch them?” She moved her fingertips tentatively along the old scar, which tingled pleasantly.

 _You never say what I expect you to_ , he thought. “No, they are long healed.”

She nodded and brought her hands together as though folding them in prayer, then opened her fingers to pluck at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. She asked permission before she slid his waistcoat down his arms, tugged his shirt free and drew it over his head.

 _In this moment, linnet, I would grant you leave to do anything_.

She traced his tattoos, her fingers feather-light. She stopped at the bandage around his waist. “I will not disturb this.”

“Do not concern yourself, madam. Just continue on your path.”

She blushed becomingly. “I’m very eager to see you. I’ve dreamed—”

“Have you? Tell me of your wicked dreams.”

“I walk through a green wood,” she whispered to him, as her fingers slid to his belt. She carefully undid the buckle and slipped the leather through the loops on his trousers. The belt joined his shirt and waistcoat on the floor. “To the edge of a wide river, in which you stand. The water is up to your shoulders, and I can see drops of water in your hair, and dotting your skin.” She reached up and ran her hands over his shoulders. “You are golden all over. Like a lion, I imagine.”

“Lions are golden,” he allowed, entranced by the movement of her hands and her imaginings. When she stopped and looked up at him with a small frown, he realised she might have thought his comment mockery. “From their eyes to their paws,” he said, to ease his bald statement. “Pray continue.”

“When I stand at the bank, you walk towards me. The water reveals you inch by inch. These bold markings.” She traced the tattoo on his pectoral. Her fingertips trailed lower, under the curve of the heavy muscle and down onto his stomach. “You are so strong, James.”

 _And you so delicate_ , he thought, looking down at her. _Just like a bird, or a gazelle, that fleet prey of a lion_. Her exploration was eroding his control and he found himself impatient again. _Wait_ , he cautioned himself. _Wait until she is so lost in her passion that nothing I do frightens her_.

Her hand rose to cup his cheek and she caught his eyes. “James, you looked far away for a moment. Am I boring you? Do you wish me to—”

“I am wholly with you, madam.” He gave her a smile. None of the visions that had haunted him since boyhood disturbed him when he was with her. That left him free to focus on her completely. “I wish you to continue, in what you are doing and in telling me of your dream.”

Her fingers dropped to the band of his trousers and lingered there. He could feel her warmth through the fabric. “The water drops to here,” she said throatily. “And then my imagination fails me and I wake. What do you look like below? Are you as golden as above or has the sun never touched you there?”

“Open the placket and discover for yourself, madam,” James rasped. His control shredded again under her light touch. Her fingers tripped over the buttons of his trousers; the material slackened around his hips.

“One moment,” he told her and she drew back. He caught the heel of his left boot in the instep of his right and pushed one boot off. Then he toed off the other. Standing in his stocking feet on her plush carpet, he reached for her hands and guided them into the open band of his trousers.

She bit her lip as she stroked the planes of his stomach, his hips, the tops of his thighs, and finally coaxed his trousers down his legs.

He stepped out of his trousers one leg at a time, drew off his stockings and stood before her. He had been naked many times, in many places, but never before a woman whose eyes gleamed both soft and bright with a strange adoration. Never before a woman whose mere gaze made his blood pulse so hot and thick that he could hear its rush in his ears, feel it in the tips of his fingers and his distending cock.

“You are golden all over,” she breathed.

“The African sun left no part of me untouched.”

She gracefully sank to her knees, her fingers trailing down the outsides of his thighs, to rest on his calves. Her movement put her mouth at a provocative altitude. “James, do you want me to—?”

Her constant requests for permission excited him almost as much as her touch. _You know I control this, my linnet_ , he thought. _That is why you ask my consent. That is how you seduce me, by giving yourself over to me entirely_. “Another time, madam. To allow you your way this time will bring matters to a premature conclusion.”

She smiled and rose to stand before him. He saw the tightness in the satin skin of her throat, the uncertain flexion of her hands at her sides. _You may not be a virgin, but you are nervous_ , James thought. He took her hands. They were warm, but perhaps only from his skin; they trembled in his grasp.

“Caroline, you have nothing to fear. You may think me savage, but I would never hurt what I have been so tenderly offered.”

She shook her head. “I would not think that of you.”

“Then why do you tremble?”

She gave him a bashful smile. “Perhaps an excess of emotion. I will try to control myself.”

“Give up all control,” he urged her. “Give yourself over to me entirely. I will guide you.” He brought her hands back to his hips, and held them there until she grasped him of her own accord.

“I fear making a fool of myself,” she admitted in a whisper, looking up into his eyes.

“Lose all fear,” he told her. “Lies are what make fools of men. Be honest with me and I will never think you a fool. Besides.” He lifted his hands to her bodice and caressed her through the silk of her robe before he took one tie between his fingers and slowly pulled. “There is no shame between lovers.”

“James.” She put one hand over his, stopping him from undressing her. “James, I am sallow and ugly compared to you—”

He finished pulling the tie, then the two others that held her robe closed, and parted the silk so her skin gleamed like pearl between curtains of rose. He ran the backs of his fingers down from her throat to her navel. “You are a dove. A lovely, white dove. Your skin as soft and fine as feathers.” He brushed her robe off her shoulders and lifted her onto the bed. He had a moment to admire her nakedness: the cream and peach of her skin, the shallow curves of her body. He could see her barrenness, in the virgin pinkness of her nipples and her unrounded stomach, but no one would ever mistake her for a boy. Not with that satin skin and those graceful lines. The ache in his groin became unbearable as he looked at her. Planting his knees on the mattress, he slid them both into the center of the bed and leaned over her. “If I hold you to my breast, feathers to skin, will you coo for me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He gathered her to him, groaning at the first touch of skin on skin. She lifted her knees, sliding her legs up the outside of his. Her little toes trailed up his calves and when he lowered his weight to her, she dug them in with a whimper.

“Was that a coo, little dove?” he rumbled. Her head tipped back against his arm and he kissed the throat she exposed to him.

“James,” she whispered his name and it was a coo. A soft little call of pleasure and surrender. He took her mouth, so that he tasted and felt each small noise.

He ran his hand into her hair to hold her head back. Fisted his fingers in the warm silk of it. With her arched under him, he slid down, his skin drinking hers, his mouth never leaving her flesh. He licked and nipped at the rise of her collarbones and cupped her little breast with his free hand.

“Never be ashamed of what you show me, my dove,” he said between mouthfuls of her skin. “Because I have seen all that you are, and you are beautiful.”

“James, James,” she breathed. He rolled his eyes up, taking in the long line of her throat, arced in abandon, reddened by his mouth and teeth. When his gaze reached her face, he thought he would find her eyes closed in pleasure, but instead he found her eyes hooded but open, watching him. Not warily; not with the calculation of his sister or the Countess.

“What do you see?” he asked her, before taking another mouthful of her sweet skin on the way to the peak of her breast.

“A lion,” she whispered.

“I have seen Barbary lions mate,” he told her. “The male bites his mate’s neck while he mounts her. Would you like me to do that to you?”

A shudder ran through her, so strong the bed shook. “Yes.” Her admission was a tiny thread of sound.

James mouthed the top of her breast, sucking, suckling, and finally biting until she whimpered and writhed beneath him. He pulled her head back further, holding her arched while he ravaged her breast. When he lifted his head, her breast was as red as an apple from his whiskers and teeth. He moved to her other breast and gave it the same attention.

Her hands fluttered over his skin while he bit and licked and sucked. Light on his head and the back of his neck. Grasping his shoulders when he did something that made her gasp. Her legs moved along his sides in the same manner, rubbing, gliding, then digging in with her toes. As she moved under him, her fragrance rose from her skin: the sweetness of orange blossoms, the salt-musk of her sex. That smell should madden him. It had always maddened him when he smelled it rising from beneath Zilpha’s skirts. But all madness left him in Caroline’s presence. Kissing her was drinking from a cold, clear spring. Nibbling her skin was eating fruit both sweet and tart. He felt cleansed by their lovemaking and focused on her pleasure, her small movements, her taste, her scent, her sounds, to stay with her in the moment and give her back a little of what she gave him.

When her left breast was as rosy as her right, he moved down, nipping and sucking the skin of her ribs and belly. She shivered as he neared her navel, and when he bit the soft rim of flesh, she trembled uncontrollably.

“Have any of your lovers kissed you here?” he asked, moving lower to plant a kiss on the sparse, blonde curls that covered her pudendum.

“No,” she whispered.

“Then I will be the first to taste you.” He slid his hand from the small of her back to her bottom, lifting first one leg then the other over his shoulders, opening her completely.

“Oh, James, I don’t—”

“Would you deny me, madam? This is the sweetest meat I’ve been offered in London, where I’ve been offered almost nothing.”

Caroline stroked his head. “I wouldn’t deny you . . . I wouldn’t deny you anything. I just . . . I feel so strange.”

 _That’s passion, my linnet_ , he thought. _Which you’ve clearly never felt before. Hasn’t any man taken the time to pleasure you_?

“Let me guide you through these new sensations,” he said. “I swear to you there’s nothing to fear.”

He lowered his head, and breathed warmly on her skin, preparing her for the touch of his mouth. She still jolted when it came, her body arcing off the bed, held down at crown and hip by his hand and mouth. He rubbed his mouth over her, letting his whiskers abrade her outer lips, before he slid his tongue within and lapped at her.

She gave a tiny _whoop_ of surprise and pleasure, and twisted against his hands. Smiling at her response, James rubbed his mouth over her again, before taking a long, slow taste that left her undulating under him. He laved her little cleft, enjoying the salt-spray taste of her. He glanced up at her face again and found her eyes wide, fixed on the bed’s canopy overhead. Tiny tears ran from the corners of her eyes to dampen the hair at her temples.

 _Too much, too soon_ , James thought. _She hasn’t experienced this before. It’s too unsettling for our first lovemaking_. He lifted himself and lay beside her, stretching his length to hers. She was only a few inches shorter, and their bodies would fit together like hand and glove once he was within her. “My sweet, don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” she breathed. “Just overcome.”

“Easy, then. This is something that will be familiar.” He slid his hand around her hip, and drew her thigh over his. Taking himself in hand, he rubbed his swollen tip up and down her outer lips, spreading the wetness from his mouth and her arousal, until he could glide freely into her.

She gasped and clutched at his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

“My sweet, isn’t this familiar?” he asked. She’d been married, and she’d been widowed for years; surely she’d taken lovers, even if very discretely. Penetration must be familiar.

“You’re very . . . large there, James. It feels different.”

“I promise you, it is the same and you will be able to accommodate me. Once you’re used to the sensation, you’ll appreciate my girth.” Neither whores nor ladies had ever complained.

Mindful of her concern, he eased into her with slow, shallow strokes. She was beautifully tight, her passage gripping him, barely releasing him on the backstroke. _The way a virgin must feel_ , James thought as he inched his way deeper. _She must not have taken a lover in a long time_. He barely remembered taking Zilpha’s virginity, so many years ago. What he did remember was fumbling discomfort, but there was none of that with Caroline. His body glided easily into hers, coasting in the wetness he had created.

As he’d promised her, she did accommodate him, opening slowly to take him all the way into her depths. James groaned as he sank in to the hilt. “There,” he whispered to her. “We are one.”

She nodded and gripped him tightly, above and below.

James adjusted her in his arms, then finding that he wanted more leverage, he rolled her onto her back, lifted her legs around him and settled onto his forearms so he wasn’t crushing her. He looked down into her lovely face and found her watching him with wet eyes and a tremulous smile.

“James,” she murmured.

He caught her mouth and kissed her deep, laving her lips and tongue with his. He kissed her again and again as a pulsing pressure grew at the point of their sweet connection. She shifted restlessly under him and James smiled against her mouth. “Are you beginning to relish the sensation, my linnet?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands drifting from his shoulders to clutch the muscles of his back.

“Lovemaking is the rising of the tide,” he told her as he rolled his hips. Her legs tightened around him, toes digging into the backs of his thighs. Her movements gave him a rhythm to follow. A slow surge to her heated core; a clinging, unhurried withdrawal that left him panting, desperate for the next wave. “All you must do is rise to each swell.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Yes, James.”

“I told you there was nothing to fear. There is only pleasure between us.” He quickened his pace, the surge becoming the pounding of the surf. “Trust me, Caroline. Give yourself over to me and I will guide you.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and wild. “I do trust you.”

 _I must do nothing to rupture that trust_ , he thought. So he kept his motion rhythmic and deliberate, when he wanted nothing more to abandon himself to frenzy. For her part, she followed his instruction and met each thrust with a gentle upswell of her hips. Her actions were untutored, unstudied, not the practiced motions of a whore or even the worldly woman she professed to be. As they met and parted, met and parted, her breathing frayed, becoming erratic. Her right hand left his back and scrabbled across the bed sheets, as though seeking a handhold.

James reached out and grasped her hand, drawing it back over her head. He entwined their fingers as he’d entwined their bodies, holding her tight. “Let me be your rock,” he murmured to her, keeping up his steady motion. She shivered, losing her rhythm. Then James felt a different, a distinctly different shiver, deep within her. Her breathy whimpers rose to a wail.

“Coo for me,” he groaned, maintaining his unrelenting pace.

She did, gasping out each tremor that shook her, each wild fluttering of her body. James held her, her hand stretched above her head, locked in his. His other hand gripped her buttocks, pulling her up into each thrust. Lost in her climax, she writhed madly under him. Now was the moment, when he could do anything he desired. He caught her mouth with his, swallowing her cries, and locking them together as he gave himself over to his own release. He plunged deep, all the way to her core, then pulled back as her body arced, every muscle locking. James plunged in again and again, groaning with pleasure as she took him. He thrust in and held himself there for a breath, their bodies straining together. Then the tide burst the breakwater and with a roar, he emptied himself, filling her in sharp, ecstatic bursts.

She went limp under him and for a moment, James thought he had overwhelmed her. Then her hand fluttered up his back, and curled around his neck. He relaxed onto her, moving his hips gently through the aftermath, kissing her softly. She stroked the back of his neck. Neither of them spoke.

When he felt his weight might be too much for her, he withdrew and rolled onto his side. She whimpered at the loss of his warmth and weight. James gathered her to him. He found the tangled bedcovers and pulled them up over her shoulders so she didn’t grow cold as their bodies cooled. He held her to his chest, and she buried her face in his neck. James breathed in her sweet smell: skin, orange blossoms and the low-tide scent of sex.

He smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

*

James woke at a knock on her bedroom door. At the second knock, he felt her stir in his arms. Her hand, still entangled in his, flexed. She rolled her head, ungluing her cheek from his neck and shoulder. James smiled at the sensations.

“Thank you, Maria,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by whatever servant stood on the other side of the door.

“Your staff are discrete,” James said, more quietly.

“Very,” she agreed. “I asked them to leave us three hours and then knock twice. If I did not answer, they would send the Misses Hawley and their horrible aunt my regrets for the headache I have developed, which prevents me from offering them tea.”

“When?” James asked.

“Three, and they are distressingly punctual.”

James hummed in acknowledgement. If she’d asked her staff to leave them three hours, then it was now a little after noon, and she had two hours before she needed to get ready for the Misses Hawley and their horrible aunt.

Two hours James intended to take full advantage of.

*

Slightly more than two, extremely pleasant, hours later, James sat in her dressing chamber, watching her dress. He knew his regard was making her nervous from the way she kept trying to hide her body behind various articles of clothing, currently a scarlet shawl that matched the fiery blush spreading all the way from her temples to her nipples.

“Linnet,” he said. “How long ago were you widowed?”

He knew already, but preferred not to reveal the extent of his knowledge.

“Three years last March,” she muttered, struggling to don a chemise without dropping the shawl. Her awkward movements were giving him a fine view of her pert little breasts as she tried to get the chemise straps over her shoulders.

“And how many men have you known since then?” he asked. That was something his street sources had not been able to tell him. If she’d had any affairs, she’d been even more discrete than her staff.

She stopped trying to wiggle into the chemise in order to stare at him open-mouthed. When she recovered, she said, “What an indelicate question!”

“As you must be aware by now, I have no delicacy. The state of your neck alone tells that tale.”

She whirled and examined her neck in the cheval glass mounted in one corner. James stroked his moustache with his gloved hand to hide his smile.

“James!” she said repressively. She turned to point at the bite marks running in an untidy line from under her left ear to her shoulder. “I’ll never be able to cover that with just a ribbon.”

“No, indeed. All will be able to see you’ve been mated by a lion. Who will be more scandalised? The Misses Hawley or the horrible aunt?”

“The aunt,” Caroline groaned. “Had she not three grown children, I would swear she is still a virgin.” She turned to look in the mirror again. “I suppose if I wear that Tudorbethan ensemble from last season the ruff will cover my neck. It will please the aunt at least. She is usually buried in such a pile of flounces, pleats and ruffles she resembles confectionary. She will think I’ve finally adopted modesty.”

“You may tell her I find you extremely modest.”

Caroline rolled her eyes.

“As well as somewhat evasive.”

“James!”

“You have not answered my question.”

“Nor will I. It does not deserve an answer.”

James gave a low growl. “I will not threaten, madam, but I will be exceptionally displeased should you fail to answer my questions.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “Will you take all the privileges of a husband and beat me to show your displeasure?”

“Did Mr. Grant beat you?”

“No, he was a most indulgent husband.”

“Then you have been spoiled, madam. I am not so indulgent.”

“If you think to frighten me—”

“I told you, I do not threaten. Answer me, or not, and accept the consequences.”

She watched him for a moment, breasts heaving beneath the shawl in a way James found distracting, even though he was well satisfied. “One. You,” she said finally.

“Ah. That answers many questions.”

“What questions?” she asked, and he could tell that her curiosity outweighed her pique. He hoped it would continue to do so; teasing her was delightful.

“Why you are so unskilled at seduction. Why you are so uncertain of my moods. Why you are so shy when I have already seen you and called you beautiful.”

Her blush would have lit all of Mr. Cholmondeley’s gunpowder, despite its unripeness.

“From your answer,” he continued. “I infer that your Mr. Grant was more a father to you than a husband, that you managed him in a way you know you cannot manage me, and that you have never been naked before a man except in darkness.”

“Is there a reason you seek to humiliate me?” she whispered. “Is this my punishment for failing to answer you?”

“No.” He patted his knee. “Come, my sweet.”

She came to him, and perched on his knee, still clutching her shawl. He drew her fully into his lap, and flicked the shawl open so her creamy breasts above her unlaced chemise were exposed. He bent his head and pressed kisses to the tops of her breasts, then her throat, then her mouth, then her cheeks and closed eyes, and finally to her forehead.

“I told you before, there is no shame between lovers,” he said between kisses. “I would not have condemned you if I’d found you a jade. You are a widow and may give your favours where you like. But I’m glad I do not. Your innocence and modesty are charming, madam. Do not be ashamed. Not of anything that passes between us.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand. “James, do you truly not mind?”

“No, not at all. Now, I will leave you to finish dressing. Otherwise you will still be naked when the Misses Hawley and their aunt arrive, which would please me greatly but might scandalise the auntie into hysterics. I will go, but I will call on you again tonight, so you will know that I have meant everything I have said and that you have nothing to be ashamed or even uncertain of with me.”

She stroked his cheek and hesitantly kissed him, which he encouraged with open lips and flicking tongue. “I have an engagement this evening. I can plead a headache.”

“Keep your engagement, madam. When will you return?”

“Eleven. Even if dinner is not adjourned by then, I will make my excuses.”

“Then I will call on you at eleven-thirty. And you will greet me just as you have greeted me this morning.” He ran his hand over her unbound and very tousled hair, enjoying the warm silk of it. “Undressed, uncorsetted, and ready for my attentions. As you will always greet me from now on. Will you do that for me, my linnet?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Good. Now get off me, so the Misses Hawley and their aunt do not find me on your doorstep.” He smacked her lightly on the bottom, which had the intended effect when she leaped off his knee as though he’d stuck her with a pin.

“James!”

He rose from the chair, took her in his arms one last time and kissed her soundly before taking his leave.

She was still blushing, but no longer hiding behind her shawl, as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

He stopped at a tailor’s on Cork Street before answering Dumbarton’s imperious summons. The Doctor’s blackmail was as bald-faced and unpalatable as the Countess’s threats, and James was angry enough as he rode towards Hampstead to wonder if Caroline had known, as she’d lain under him and sang her pleasure and trembled and blushed. Had that been the true source of her uncertainty? Had she known all along what the Americans would demand?

Atticus supplied the men he would need to stir the chlorates and the tailor provided him with new linen; his business was done shortly after dark, long before he needed to make his way to Harley Street. He thought of returning to Chamber House, but could not face the ghosts of house and river. Not after the hours of peace he’d found with his mistress. Instead, he rode to Helga’s, and bought a plate of oysters and an hour with the most matronly of her whores. He was almost angry enough to fuck the old bawd, but instead used the hour to eat, bathe and have the whore barber him. She told him dirty stories while she plied her razor and scissors, and shoved her massive breasts under his nose. The stories and her teats should have made James smile, but instead all he could think of was Caroline’s small, tender breasts in his hands, and whether, all along, she had known.

It was not desire that quickened his steps up her marble stairs, but rather a different kind of impatience. But when her Sikh manservant showed him up to her sitting room again, and she rose from her cream silk armchair, now drawn close to the fire instead of the window, dressed only in her soft dressing gown, with her hair unbound and tumbling in long, ash-gold curls down her back, he found he could not upbraid her.

Instead, he sat in the facing armchair, across the round table now set with a light supper of cold pheasant, forced asparagus and French wine, and cursed himself for a fool.

“How was your evening, madam?” he asked as she served him.

“A little dull,” she admitted. “Baron Selsey is not known for the excellence of his table. But he was one of my husband’s business partners, so he feels obligated to invite me to his horrible little dinners as Richard’s widow and I feel obligated to accept. His wife is an uneducated mouse of a creature whose only passion seems to be for whist, which I cannot abide. I was pleased to be able to make my excuses before the gaming tables were brought out.”

“And the Misses Hawley and the horrible auntie?”

“The Misses Hawley were in very fine form. Virginia Hawley is such a darling. She’s a graduate of the same ladies’ academy I attended and so well-read she’s in danger of becoming a bluestocking. She brought me a transcription of Mr. Coleridge’s lecture on _Hamlet_ with which she is much taken. Ginny is the reason I endure the aunt, who was in her usual dudgeon, although very complimentary about my attire.”

James felt a smile edging out his anger and irritation, but quelled it. He took a bite of pheasant while he waited for her to return his courtesy, which she did after a few bites of her own meal.

“And you, James, how did you pass your day?”

“Don’t you know?” he asked, unable to keep his tone from darkening.

“No, although I collect you went to your barber at some point.”

“And my tailor at another, so that if I should want to take you walking, say, in Vauxhall Gardens, I would not embarrass you.”

“Oh,” she said, putting down her fork and knife. “I would very much like to go walking with you. And you would not embarrass me, no matter what you wear. I have no liking for dandyism. You look just as a man should look, strong and rough and a little dangerous—” She broke off and picked up her wine glass. “I am making a fool of myself again.”

“Only if you lie to me, my blossom,” James said, moved despite himself. He did not think any woman had ever adored him quite the way Caroline did. It made him gentle his question, “Did you know of Doctor Dumbarton’s commission?”

She shook her head and put the glass down. “What commission?”

“Powder. As much gunpowder as I can deliver in eight days.”

“Eight days? No one can make gunpowder in eight days. I knew you were making gunpowder, of course, but I thought it would be months before it was ready.”

“The French have a process involving chlorates which renders the powder very quickly.”

“I haven’t heard of it, but military matters are Dumbarton’s sphere rather than mine. Still, he should have reported it to me, since I am your liaison now.”

“And have you reported the extent of our _liaison_ to your compatriots?” he asked.

She blushed, but not as deeply as she had this afternoon. “No. Do you want me to? Do you fear they will see me as compromised and replace me?”

“I fear very little, madam. Particularly not from your band of bumbling spies—”

She tipped her head to the side and set her silverware down. “You’re angry. I didn’t see it before. Why? What have I done?”

“Using chlorates is extremely dangerous, even more dangerous than the base endeavour of making gunpowder. I risk all: my factory, my chemist, my—” He broke off before he mentioned Robert. “My entire plan rests on taking gunpowder to Nootka, and your Doctor threatens that by demanding something I do not have to give.”

She bowed her fair head over her meal. “I’m sorry. I’ll speak to him.”

Her apology cooled the embers of his anger. “No, madam. I understand the need is great. If the American guns fall silent, even for a day, the British will break the Irish blockade. If it can be done, I will deliver the powder. And, yes, I was angry, but I should not have been angry with you. You told me that you each had your own spheres, and I should have guessed that gunpowder was not within yours.”

“You thought I knew what Dumbarton was going to ask of you and kept it from you this morning,” she said quietly.

James nodded, and used the gesture to cover his chagrin. Until that moment, he’d not thought beyond her republican sympathies. He had been focused on why she would want to spy for the Americans, rather than why the Americans would want her as their spy. She had access to several levels of Society, and insight that was almost as preternatural as James’s own.

“I did not know, but I will make it my business to know from now on.” She reached out and put her hand over his, where it rested on the table. “I do not want you to be angry with me.”

He turned his hand over and squeezed her fingers, found them cold. _I will warm you, my tender blossom_ , he thought. _When you have sung your song again for me, I will hold you close and keep you warm, and you will keep my nightmares at bay_.

“James, what are you thinking?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

“That you never say what I expect you to,” he answered honestly. “And that even if you had known, and kept it from me, I still would have forgiven you, because you give me a measure of peace that I have never known before, madam.”

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then she broke into the broadest smile he had seen from her.

*

They did not do the pheasant justice, but did full justice to her soft, well-sprung bed. She sang for him twice before he was through, and afterwards curled against his chest, her face in his throat, her fingers laced through his, and wept with what she called an excess of emotion. James didn’t try to stop her. He just held her until she fell asleep, then rolled her over and curled around her so she was held, deep and warm, within the curve of his body.

He slept without nightmares, without even any dreams that he could remember, and woke rested and refreshed for the first time since reaching London. At some point in the night, he’d rolled onto his back; she lay against his uninjured side, her head on his shoulder. One of her small hands was tangled with his, and when he woke and stretched, her fingers tightened.

He left their hands entwined, and settled back into the goose-down pillows to watch the day dawn cool and grey through the mullioned windows. In a few hours Atticus’s men would assemble at the farm and begin the continual stirring that Cholmondeley required. They were already paid, from what he’d given Atticus, and Cholmondeley would instruct them, so there was no need for James to be there. _I might go anyway_ , he thought. _Or I might_ _linger here and_ _enjoy my mistress’s exceptional hospitality_.

As he was engaged in these pleasant musings, there was a tiny knock on the door, then Caroline’s maid entered. She kept her eyes averted from the bed as she scuttled over to the fireplace and built up the fire.

James checked that both he and Caroline were decently covered before he said, “Good morning.”

The maid started, then stood and curtseyed. “Sir,” she whispered. “Mrs. Grant usually rises and breakfasts now. Should I tell Cook to wait?”

“No, I’ll wake your mistress. She’ll have appointments today.”

“No, sir. Mrs. Grant makes no appointments of a Saturday. She says it’s a day for reflection.”

James grunted. He didn’t yet know Caroline’s views on religion – he hoped they were not the same as his sister’s – but he heartily approved of reflecting outside the Sunday strictures of sermon and pew.

“And where does she usually do this reflection?” he asked.

Caroline rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and answered him. “Kew Gardens. I like to walk while I think.”

“Then we will walk together, madam. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she responded, showing him the courtesy she always showed him, which James valued so much. “Is there anything particular I can tempt you with to break your fast? Do you want wine, gin or brandy?”

“Coffee,” he told her. “And whatever you are having.” He dipped his head and whispered so as not to scandalise her maid. “And a good morning kiss.”

She wriggled up and kissed him without regard for the maid’s presence.

*

Unlike St. James or Vauxhall, and without the King in residence, Kew Gardens was not a place for the smart set to see and be seen. Too far from the city’s busy heart, it was a place of white wrought iron and glass hothouses, botanical curiosities and long green walks. James found himself as alone with Caroline as if he’d taken her deep into the country. They strolled out of an avenue of cedar trees to the shore of a pond and found their only companions a pair of swans floating serenely on the green water.

“I hope you do not walk here alone, madam,” James observed. It was too remote for his liking. Even if someone heard her screams, it would be many minutes before a rescuer reached her.

“No, I usually make poor Ginny or Maria come with me.”

“Two women walking alone are scarcely safer than one. I would be easier if you brought your man in future.”

She leaned into his arm and looked up at him, catching his eyes under the brim of his hat. “Does this mean you won’t accompany me in future?”

“I will be your walker so long as I am in London.”

“There are pleasant places to walk in Paris, too.”

“Then I will be your walker there as well. How long do you plan to remain in France?”

She stroked his arm with her gloved hand as they strolled along the pond’s muddy edge. She was evidently accustomed to the mud, for she’d worn a deep blue riding habit with a trimmed-up skirt and stout brown boots. “I haven’t made any firm plans. The house I’ve taken in Paris is only let by the month, so that long at least. I haven’t been to France since before the war started, but it was one of Richard’s favourite places, so perhaps I’ll travel to some of his old haunts. I’m glad he did not live to see the war. It would have pained him deeply.”

“Was he a Francophile, then?”

She nodded, the white feather in her riding hat bobbing. “He adored the continentals. Even the Spanish, despite their papacy. And the Americans. He said the Colonies had sucked all the vigour out of England and kept it for their own.”

“Is that why he wanted a Colonial for a wife?”

“He certainly never objected to my origins, but he’d outlived two wives, so I think it was primarily my youth and health that were inducements. He’d also buried three children and wanted no more heartbreak, so he did not mind my barrenness and was happy to live without the fear of losing another wife in childbed. And I think he thought the daughter of a merchant would better endure his own merchantly leanings, even before he knew of my fascination for commerce.”

“It is unusual in a woman of your position, madam.”

“But don’t you find it enthralling, James? The flow of supply and demand, the rise and fall of currencies, the development of new commodities? Cotton and coal are England’s future.” She looked anxiously at his face. “Oh, dear. I’m making a fool of myself again.”

“Not at all, madam. I’m just reflecting.”

“May I ask what are you reflecting on?”

“That you would make any merchant a fine partner.”

She squeezed his arm. “You are alone in thinking so. Richard’s former associates wanted nothing to do with me. They tried to buy his shares off me at ruinous prices, and demanded overages that I could barely pay when I refused. Without a loan from the Rothschilds, I would have lost all. I had to hire a legion of solicitors to force Richard’s so-called friends to let me retain the shares until each venture came to an end. When a few of the ventures were less successful than anticipated, they blamed me, even though I’d done nothing to hinder or even influence the venture. They said a woman in business was bad luck. Eventually I hired a man of affairs and conducted my business through a trust so no one would know of my involvement.”

That’s why, James realised, no one knew the source or extent of her wealth. She’d had to hide her activities behind trusts and intermediaries. “Their prejudices made them short-sighted. A true merchant cannot afford such blindness.”

“Are you really a merchant, James? You seem to me more a man of action. Your energy is boundless. Richard would have liked you very much.”

James wondered what her husband would have made of his lovemaking. “Is that why you’ve taken me as a lover, madam? Because you believe your departed husband would approve?” He kicked a fallen branch out of her way and helped her onto a drier bit of sod.

She gave a soft laugh. “No. My criteria are doubtless different than Richard’s. Although he did bid me find happiness before he died and not mourn him overlong.”

“Yet I have heard you wore the black for a full year. And you’ve been alone for two more if I’m your first lover. Why, madam?”

“Another indelicate question, Mr. Delaney.”

“Answer my question, Caroline. Or you will answer to my palm later.”

Caroline gave a soft snort, and James wondered if she saw through his brusqueness already. He wouldn’t hurt her, of course, but some playful spanking might diminish her reticence.

When she stepped up onto a log bridge out to a little island in the pond and walked along it like a tightrope walker, her arms out for balance, looking a much younger girl than her six and twenty, he growled, “Caroline, don’t think to try to escape me.”

She hopped off the log and onto the soggy loam at water’s edge. With a sucking _plop_ , she sank ankle-deep into mud.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I may need you to rescue me.”

“Until you answer my question, you are stranded, madam.”

Caroline looked around for assistance, but the little stand of beech on the island was too far away for her to reach. She tried to tug one foot out of the mud, but only sank deeper. “James, I really am stuck.”

He set his walking cane’s tip on the far end of the log and leaned on it while taking his pipe and wallet of tobacco out of his coat. He made a show of tamping down the leaf in the bowl, then taking out his striker and snapping it until he got a spark. Once the leaf was smouldering, he took up the pipe and puffed while continuing to lean on his cane. “This truly is a fine place for reflection,” he said.

“Your humour is most inappropriate, James. I appear to be sinking.”

“There is no appearance about it,” James observed. “The mud will soon be over your boot-tops and you will lose them in the mud. You will have a very sore walk back to the stables along the stone paths without your boots.”

“James! You are a scoundrel and a rogue to leave a lady floundering.”

“True. How comes the answer to my question, madam? Has the fine prospect brought you clarity?” He held out his arm to encompass the tranquil pond. “It certainly doesn’t seem to have brought any alacrity.”

“James! If I lose my boots in this mud, I will not forgive you.”

“Mmm, as we’ve established your merchantly leanings, tell me what is more costly: a new pair of boots or salve for your very sore arse after I give you the thrashing your evasion deserves?”

“James, oh!” She looked down at her right boot, which had sunk so deep mud oozed over the top and down into her stocking. “That’s cold.”

“And wet, I imagine,” James said, puffing meditatively on his pipe.

“Oh, very well. I expect a proper rescue after this. Including my boot.”

“As a merchant, you should know when you are in a poor bargaining position.”

“You are incorrigible, sir.”

“Incorrigible as well as inappropriate. I appear to have very little to recommend me, madam. Perhaps my girth and energy make up for my other shortcomings.”

“James!” She glanced around to ensure his outrageous comment had not been overheard, but there were only the swans and they seemed unconcerned. “If you must know, I wore the black for a year in Richard’s memory, but also to discourage suitors. They sniff after wealthy widows like bloodhounds.”

“I’m aware,” James said, puffing meditatively. “But I would have thought you too fleet a fox to be caught by Society’s hounds.”

Caroline raised her hands helplessly. “One or two I might have eluded, but when I came out of mourning, they were a plague. Their persistence and unwanted advances, with Richard only a year in the ground, drove me to tears on several occasions. On seeing my consternation, Countess Cowper offered me the services of her cousin, Colonel Lewis Lodge. Lewis was to pretend to court me and I would return his attentions and that way avoid the pestilence of suitors. It seemed a sound plan. Lewis was a widower with a family already grown, so he had no desire for immediate remarriage. He was a former military man, which I thought meant he had honour. He had a fondness for actresses and kept two as mistresses, so I thought I would be safe from unwanted advances.” She twisted and tugged on her submerged boot. “James, honestly, you might rescue me now.”

“I might,” James agreed. “After you finish your tale.”

“Uh!” He thought she would have stamped her foot, except that it was submerged. “Lewis turned out to be just as pestilential as any other suitor. Naturally, I did not enquire after his finances when I agreed to Emily’s scheme, but it transpired he was very deep in debt. As I thought him a friend, I made no secret of my business dealings and he soon began entreating me for a loan to pay his creditors. When I refused, he proposed to me in earnest. Of course, I knew he had no sincere desire. He took my second refusal very badly. Then I was obliged to travel north on business. When I returned, I discovered that he’d misrepresented our engagement to my bankers and taken the money he asked for. I could think of no way to recover the money, which had all been spent. If I’d cried fraud, it was only his honest creditors who would have suffered. There was no way to expose him without risking a terrible scandal to Emily’s family. In the end, I told Emily that the deception had begun to weigh on my conscience. She helped me end it publically, without any disgrace. Lewis knew I could expose him; he made no protest. And I swore never to trust a so-called gentleman again.”

James knocked out his pipe on his boot-heel and strode across the log. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he pulled her up out of the mud and set her on the log. With his other hand, he reached down into the ooze and retrieved her boot. Then he tossed her over his shoulder. Ignoring her protests, he crossed the log and walked up the bank to dry ground before setting her on her feet. He knelt before her, shook the worst of the mud from her boot and held it out for her.

Caroline delicately presented her dirty, stocking-clad foot and James encased it in the boot. Rising, he returned to the water and rinsed off his hands.

“Thank you, James,” Caroline said quietly from behind him.

He offered her his arm. “Thank you, madam, for your honesty.”

“I wish I could tell that story in any way that doesn’t paint me as a fool.”

He guided her back around the pond towards the cedars. “Have you told it often?” he asked.

“I confessed it to Ginny once when I was very low.”

“Once to a good friend, and now to me. Neither of us takes you for a fool, so do not concern yourself. Had you any thought of revenge?”

“On Lewis? No. His fondness for deep play and expensive actresses guarantees his eventual ruin, without the need for my interference. Besides, I fear I was too unguarded during the year of our pretend courtship. Lewis knows I spend much time in the company of republicans. While I hope he would hesitate to brand me traitor, I fear what he might do if I attempted revenge.”

“If you require my services in attaining irreproachable vengeance, I am at your disposal.”

She squeezed his arm. “Thank you, James, but I suspect it’s the other way around.”

“How is that, madam?”

“My compatriots believe that you are using your inheritance to pit Company against Crown. The good doctor thinks you may be doing it without purpose. Out of madness, or perversity. Knowing you as I do, I cannot agree. I will not ask you your reasons, James. Nor your plans. Just know that this pawn is neither unwitting nor unwilling. I will help you in any way I can.”

James placed his hand over hers. “No, my sweet blossom. You have no part in this. You have invited me to accompany you to Paris and there your involvement begins and ends. All else is darkness. You are not meant for darkness, linnet. You are a creature of sunlight.”

“Do you compare me to a summer’s day, sir?” she asked lightly.

“I am no poet, madam,” he responded, remembering enough of his education to recognize the reference, even if he could no longer recite any Shakespeare.

“But that was very poetic. I’ve never been called a creature of sunlight before.” She smiled up at him, then sobered and said seriously. “I am happy to occupy whatever role you assign me. If you need more from me, I am willing.”

James stopped in the shade of a cedar, turned her on his arm and traced her cheek with his fingertips. “Were I to involve you, you would be my most trusted conspirator.” When she turned her face up to his, he kissed her, long and deep before he continued, “It cannot be, Caroline. I told you I would never hurt what I was so tenderly offered. I meant that, body and soul.”

“Thank you for your regard for my well-being.” She pressed her cheek into his palm.

“Madam,” James growled, roused by her submission to his needs as much as her touch. “I never should have let you persuade me to venture so far from your bed. How am I to ride ten miles like this?”

Her eyes flew up to his. “James, I’m sorry. What have I done?”

He smiled despite his discomfort. “Been no more and no less than your charming self.” Which he found wholly irresistible. “Now we will find a secluded tree and you will lift your skirts for me, for I cannot ride like this and I am owed a reward for rescuing you from your predicament.”

He thought she would protest. She was a well-bred lady who had only been treated genteelly by the one man she’d given herself to. But he should have remembered that in her second lover, she’d sought something wholly different. She wanted him as he was: rough and demanding. So she did not protest, and lifted her skirts obligingly when James found a well-concealed tree with a smooth trunk. James lifted her against the tree and drew her legs around his hips, uncaring of her muddy boots and unwilling to take her in any position she might consider whorish. He pinioned her with his body and grasped the trunk for leverage. She offered him her rosebud mouth and her cries of pleasure and he took both as he took her hot, tight cunny. When they were spent, he held her against the tree, not letting her straighten her skirts and walk away as Zilpha had. Instead, he held her and listened to her sweet whispers: that he smelled of tobacco and woodsmoke and wildness, just as a man should smell, before he finally released her.

He was much more comfortable on the ride back to Harley Street, but he noticed her wincing when they cantered and again when they dismounted at the stable behind her house. Her Indian met them at the door and took James’s cane, coat and hat.

“Mrs. Grant needs a hot bath,” James told the Sikh.

The man immediately bowed and disappeared into the back of the house.

“I do?” Caroline asked, as she examined the letters that had been delivered during their outing.

“Yes, you do.”

“Because of the mud on my legs?”

James leaned close and whispered into her ear. “And the soreness of your little purse. Besides, I want to watch you bathe.”

“Oh.” Caroline blushed like one of the peach roses they had seen in the Kew hothouses.

As with his other lascivious plans, she made no objection, but modestly turned her back to him when the bath was drawn, the maid dismissed, and the time come to shed her clothes. James smiled at the lovely curves of her back and buttocks. She stepped into the copper bath and sank down into the hot water with a sigh. James lounged at her writing desk, a glass of her fine brandy in hand, and watched moisture sheen her pale arms and throat as she relaxed back against the padded rim.

“Better, blossom?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you, James. I wouldn’t have thought of this.”

James decided not to scandalise her by telling her it was a frequent remedy for whores. Although he doubted that many of them relieved their soreness in a beaten copper hip-bath. He leafed through the three unopened envelopes she had left on her desk. “Would you like me to read your letters to you?”

“Yes, please. Could you start with the one from my cousin, Mrs. Walker? It’s on the top.”

James broke the seal and opened the top letter. He sipped the brandy between paragraphs, which contained local gossip and family news that meant nothing to him. He saw Caroline smile when her cousin described the antics of the cousin’s children: two sons and a baby daughter, but otherwise she made no response.

When he had finished, James examined the envelope. The postmark was from Essex, rather than America. “You have family here in England?”

“Yes, the Morris family is vast,” Caroline said with what sounded like amusement. “I have enough cousins here to fill a ballroom.”

“And back in Philadelphia?”

“Four brothers, six aunties and uncles on my father’s side, three on my mother’s, and more cousins than lords in Parliament.”

“But no sisters,” he said.

“No. I always wanted one, but mother said I was the last and she was right. I have to content myself with cousins.”

“Your parents?”

“My mother passed three years before I came to England. That’s why I was sent away. Without her guidance, under the influence of my brothers, I was growing wild. To be fair, they were a terrible influence; Benjy taught me to ride without saddle or stirrups and Josh used to lace my aunt’s afternoon tea with a sleeping powder so we could sneak out and go pigeon shooting. Not very ladylike.” James hummed in amusement. She continued, “Poor Papa passed two years before Richard. All I have left are my brothers, and they are scattered. Daniel remains in Philadelphia, but the last I heard from Joshua, he was driving cattle in some wild place called the Missouri Territory.”

“I’ve heard it’s huge. As big as all Europe,” James commented.

Caroline rolled her head along the bath’s padded rim to look at him. “I’ve heard that, too. In one of his last letters, Josh said that the sky is so wide, it’s like a vast bowl, and he can see the Earth’s curve within it. I think I should like to see sky that big some day.”

“The view in England is restricted,” James allowed, biting into one of the dark golden biscuits the maid had left with the brandy. “Too many buildings and too much smoke. These are excellent.” He held up another ginger biscuit, before popping it into his mouth and turning to the next letter. “This one is from someone called Obadiah Smith, who signs his name with many flourishes.”

Caroline gave a soft, throaty laugh. “He’s our correspondent in Scotland. How is the weather?”

James read out Mr. Smith’s letter, which was indeed a long report of each day’s weather for the last sennight.

“Either Mr. Smith is a very dull correspondent or he writes in code,” James concluded, on reaching the end of the seventh day’s report of fair skies.

“The latter,” Caroline admitted freely. “The first day relates to his situation. The last to mine. Fair skies on both days indicate that he has no indication either of us is suspected by the monarchists. The second day relates to our sympathisers in Ireland. A gathering storm means trouble, of course, and that he mentions grey clouds surely refers to the gunpowder shortage. The third day is the war with the States, the fourth is the war with France. Clearing skies on both refer to the upcoming peace negotiations. The fifth and sixth days, rumours about the King and Prince respectively. It sounds as though he has little new to relate.”

“A clever code,” James allowed. “But I thought spies wrote in cypher.”

“Are you acquainted with a man named Solomon Coop? He is the King’s spymaster, although he styles himself Private Secretary.” James grunted, well aware of who Solomon Coop was, and what he did. Caroline continued, ”He has a whole roomful of men with no other occupation than to break Napoleon’s codes. Anything we could devise would be child’s play to them.”

James nodded. “Had you no thought to use Napoleon’s codes yourself?”

“Although I appreciate that the Crown in its consternation believes us in league, there is actually no connection between the American correspondents and the French,” Caroline responded. She stirred in the bath with a small splash.

“Has the water grown too cool?” James set the letter aside and picked up the kettle of water her maid had left next to the fire. When Caroline drew her knees up, he poured the hot water into the vacant end of the bath until she sighed.

“That is lovely.”

_You are lovely, my linnet_ , he thought, watching steam curl around her bent knees. He glanced at her face, expecting her to be reclined and languid in the heat. Instead, he found her watching him, as she often did. Without wariness or calculation. Her expression was open, a small smile bowing her lips, her eyes alight.

“Yes?” he asked.

She shrugged and slid down in the bath. Now she closed her eyes, to avoid meeting his, as she admitted, “I dearly enjoy watching you move.”

“Do I still remind you of a lion?”

“Yes.” She smiled and rubbed the foamy hot water up her arms. James followed the bobbing of her bare breasts with great interest.

“I do not pretend,” she continued, without opening her eyes. “That anything we have done has turned the tide of the war. But we ensured that word of the victory at Plattsburgh was swiftly conveyed to Ghent, despite the British blockade, so the American negotiators made no concessions. That is a kind of victory, I think. Particularly in a war that no one wanted.”

James returned to his chair, but moved it around the end of her desk so he could see over the rim of the tub. “So communication has been your mission, rather than the conveying of secrets?”

“We were able to give early warning of the change in policy after Napoleon’s defeat in April, but little else of strategic value. I wish we could have given warning of the attack on the capitol, but even if we had, I doubt it would have made any difference. Mr. Madison’s cabinet ever denied that Washington was a target. Even to the week before Bladensburg, or so I’m told.” She placed her hands on the bath’s rim and tapped her nails against the copper. “And there is a persistent rumour of an attack on New Orleans, which I have conveyed every time I heard it, but nothing has come of it.”

“The war’s not over yet,” James observed.

“No,” she agreed. “Many more men will die before the end of Mr. Madison’s War.”

“Some with the powder I am to supply.”

“Does that bother you, James? I would not have their deaths on your conscience.”

“I am a merchant who deals in gunpowder, madam. The purpose of gunpowder is killing, whether animal or man. Those deaths are on my head. They join many others, as you have no doubt heard. And I have no conscience to burden.”

She turned in the bath to look at him. James lost his view of her breasts, as she moved close to the tub’s side, which made him grunt in annoyance. “Is that something you say to tease me, or something you believe?” she asked.

“It is something I say because it is something I believe. And something that is also true.”

“I see,” she said. She lay back in the tub and James regained his view. “It is not something I believe.”

“Then you do not know me as well as you think, madam.”

“Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself. Is there one last letter?”

James watched her for a moment. Her certainty – when she was generally uncertain of him – niggled, and he wondered what she thought she knew, and whether he might spank it out of her later.

“From a Miss Edwards,” he confirmed. “Is she correspondent, friend or confidant?”

“None of those. She is a former employee. She used to write me monthly with progress, but now that I am no longer her employer, she either writes out of kindness, because she knows I remain interested in the endeavour, or because of a difficulty on which she wants my advice. Shall we see which it is?”

It was kindness, as it turned out. The letter detailed the month’s progress, in bales of cloth and hours and wages and girls employed, of a weaving factory somewhere near Manchester. Caroline asked him to re-read parts of the letter, and he could almost see her turning over the numbers in her head.

“She might safely expand,” Caroline said at last. “Although the war has increased demand for cloth for bandages and uniforms, I believe that once trade reopens with America and Europe, the demand for finished cloth will only increase. I will write back to her with that recommendation, although she is free to ignore it now.”

“To whom did you sell the factory?” James asked, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. Caroline’s maid had taken his boots, presumably to clean the pond’s mud off them, so he stretched his stocking feet to the fire and wriggled his toes in the warmth.

Caroline made a low sound that, had she been a few years younger, would have been a girlish giggle. “You’ll think me mad.”

“I formed that conclusion long ago,” James responded.

“You are most uncharitable, sir.”

“We have since established your low view of my character, madam. I can only conclude it is offset by my physical attributes, which you seem to admire. Answer me.”

Caroline sat forward to wrap her arms around her knees. “I sold it to them. To Miss Edwards and the girls. They each bought a share.”

James picked up the letter and read the return direction. “The Bolton Finishers Cooperative Society. How very democratic of you. Tell me, what did you receive for your shares?”

“Something far more valuable than silver or gold,” Caroline replied.

“Something far less valuable than if you’d sold them to an industrialist, I’ll wager.”

“Will you upbraid me for my poor business sense? For making decisions with my heart instead of my head, as Richard’s associates did? Miss Edwards and her girls control their own futures now. They set their wages and working hours and conditions. They have a trade that does not involve debasing their bodies. A trade they can teach to their sisters and friends and daughters. In short, they have everything I received merely because of good fortune in my birth and marriage. Which they lacked from nothing more than ill-fortune in theirs. They are lovely girls, James. Modest and bright and full of hope. I wish you could meet them—”

“I believe you, madam.”

She put her fingers over her lips and sank back in the tub. “Forgive me. I realise I am uncomfortably passionate on the subject.”

“None of your passions discomfit me, madam. Although I will be most discomfited if you take a chill from sitting in cold water,” he said, observing the goose-flesh rising on her upper arms. “Out you come.”

She rose gracefully out of the water and James felt his blood leap at the sight of her wet nakedness. Feeling his gaze, crimson rose to her cheeks, throat and chest. She cupped her hands over her breasts as though he hadn’t made an extensive study of them already, climbed out of the tub unsteadily and drew on her dressing gown from where it hung on a warming rack in front of the fire.

Two pieces slid together in James’s head. In matters of business, where she had a great deal of experience, she considered herself to be his equal. She dealt with him there confidently. But in the physical realm, where she was inexperienced and knew herself to be outmatched, she was shy, cautious, retiring.

He hoped by broadening her experience, he wouldn’t destroy her modesty. He found the contrast bewitching.

“You should dress, madam,” he told her.

“I will. It’s insupportable to be in my dressing-gown in the middle of the afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I heartily approve of you being in your dressing-gown in the middle of the afternoon, and mid-morning, and late evening, and any other time you receive me. But we have an errand to run before the shops close, so you must dress.”

“We do?”

“Yes, we do. You need not wear your silks and lace. Indeed, we might get a better price if you do not. But whatever you wish to wear, don it now while I go order a carriage.”

“I keep a phaeton and pair,” she said. A reminder that however tender her heart in matters of ladies’ cooperatives, she still commanded formidable wealth. “I will ring Mr. Singh.”

“Do not trouble yourself. I need to stretch my legs. I will find him.” If he remained to watch her dress, James knew he would not be able to resist the siren’s call of her tender breasts and satin skin. He wanted to give her purse time to recover before he filled it again.


	4. Chapter 4

James easily found the Sikh in the kitchen, with an Indian woman James assumed to be his wife, two young Indian children, Thomas, the groom and Maria, the maid. They were sitting around a planked table enjoying afternoon tea, complemented by sandwiches and cakes, from the look of their plates.

The Sikh and the groom shot to their feet when James appeared. He nodded to them. “Please do not stand on my account. Mrs. Grant requires help dressing,” he said to the maid. “And her phaeton to be readied.”

“Yes, sir.” The maid bobbed and nearly ran from the kitchen. The groom made a slower exit out of the kitchen door.

“You take very good care of Mrs. Grant,” James observed to the Sikh.

“Thank you, sir,” the Indian man replied.

“Have you been with her many years?”

“Since her marriage, when she joined this household.”

James grunted. The Indian was her husband’s man, then. That made him less confident of the man’s loyalty than he’d been. “I, too, intend to take very good care of Mrs. Grant. If there is anything wrong, anything she requires, you may send for me. I will leave you my direction.”

“Yes, sir.” The Indian man brought him a scrap of paper and a charcoal stub that one of the children had probably been using. James wrote the address of Chamber House as neatly as he could with the splintery stick.

“You may hear rumours about me,” James said as he handed the scrip to the man. “Savagery and murder and worse. You may be sure, I would never let any of that touch Mrs. Grant.”

The Sikh bowed. “India and Africa are not so far apart, sir. There are those who might label me savage. But not Mrs. Grant.”

“No, not Mrs. Grant,” James agreed. “She relies on you, and I hope I may, too.”

“In matters involving Mrs. Grant, of course.”

James grunted, understanding and appreciating the limitations the man had just placed on his service. “Good day.”

“Good day, sir,” the Sikh replied.

James returned to the front of the house, intending to step outside and have a pipe while he waited for Caroline. But he found her descending the steps, drawing on a pair of plain leather gloves. They matched her simple, high-necked grey gown and unadorned bonnet.

James bowed to her as she reached the bottom. “I didn’t know you owned anything but French lace and silk, madam.”

“Being a lady of my station means having an outfit for every occasion, sir,” she replied, dipping him a curtsey.

“And donning them in record time,” James observed, thumbing his watch. “I didn’t even have a minute for a pipe.”

Caroline coloured prettily. “Considering the effect your last pipe had on us both, perhaps that’s fortunate.”

James grunted in surprise. Then grinned as he offered her his arm. Although he was aware of, and appreciated, her humour, given her shyness, he’d not expected any sexual innuendo from her. He found he liked her small boldness very much.

“There may yet be time, if your groom is not as speedy as your maid. Are there any hidden nooks in your little park where we might retire?”

“James!” she said repressively.

He grunted in amusement, pleased he could still shock her.

Her groom was nearly as efficient as the reliable Maria and had the phaeton and pair waiting out front when James and Caroline emerged from the house. The day, which had dawned grey but remained fine for their expedition to Kew Gardens, had finally succumbed to the scudding clouds and spat a fine, cold rain at them.

James adjusted his beaver-pelt hat against the drizzle and handed Caroline up into the seat. Before mounting up himself, he greeted the horses, a pair of deep-chested, placid mares, neither as headstrong nor as powerful as his grey gelding, but perfect for pulling Caroline’s little phaeton. He let the horses snuffle his hands, and accepted an apple from the groom to feed each of them. Then he climbed into the little carriage, drew on his gloves and held out his hand for the reigns.

That the young man looked to Caroline before handing the reigns to him only increased his approval of her staff.

“Thank you, Thomas,” Caroline said, dismissing the groom.

The lad bowed and disappeared back into the house.

“You drive this trap yourself?” James asked before flicking the reigns to set the horses off.

“Occasionally, but in the main, I prefer to ride,” Caroline answered.

“Ah, yes, the equestrienne. Yet you have not offered to ride me, madam. I am slighted.”

“James!”

He turned his chuckle into a cough, which he smothered with his glove. They rode in silence through the busy streets, until James said, “At my house, you will meet my father’s manservant, Brace, and possibly a Miss Lorna Bow, who claims to be my father’s widow. You need not speak to either of them if it is beneath you.”

“Lorna Bow, the actress?” Caroline asked.

“You know her?”

“I’ve seen her perform. She’s really rather good, you know. Didn’t she accompany you to Countess Musgrove’s party?”

“Yes,” James said flatly.

Caroline was silent, considering. Then she said, “You say her name with neither affection nor approval. Do you object to her profession, or only her claim on your inheritance?”

“I object to a number of things about her. Most particularly her pet canary, which flits about my father’s house like a trapped bat but will not leave, and shits on my favourite chair.”

Caroline laughed, low and sweet. “Very objectionable. Have you tried opening a window and scattering some seed on the ground beneath the sill? That would probably rid you of the annoyance, and the dirty chair.”

“A practical suggestion, madam. I give you leave to action it while I take care of my business. Ask Brace for some seed. He will supply it.”

“But won’t it upset poor Miss Bow? It is her pet, after all.”

“I will buy her dog. That is a proper pet.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t like dogs. No, I couldn’t, James. It’s heartless to deprive her of her pet, particularly after she’s been recently widowed.”

“Her sole concession to widowhood is a black feather in her bonnet. She did not appear at my father’s funeral, nor have I seen a single sign of grief from her. Had she not produced a trunk of my father’s belongings, I would have doubted she even knew him. A far cry from your lengthy observances, madam.”

She placed gentle hands around his arm, touching him to comfort him but not impeding his driving. “James, everyone grieves in different ways. She is an actress. Surely she puts a brave face on her loss.”

“Such a brave face, I’m not convinced she’s suffered one. But I will let you form your own opinion.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued, so I will be glad of meeting her.”

James grunted, wondering if he should relish or dread the encounter. “Here is your chance.”

He pulled the horses up in front of Chamber House. Dismounting, he tied the leads to the front fence before offering his hand to Caroline and escorting her into the house.

As they entered, James was struck by the contrast between her house and his father’s. The damp chill which could be felt even in the cramped vestibule. The nose-wrinkling smell of must and mildew. The pervasive miasma that seemed to leech all colour out of paint and fabric.

He turned his head to look at Caroline. She was looking around attentively, but without disdain, and her colours – gold and blue, cream and peach – were undimmed by the house’s despair.

He leafed through the letters on the vestibule’s table, and collected a book and letter addressed to Lorna Bow Delaney.

Brace, carrying an armful of wood, met them in the parlour. He bowed to Caroline, when James introduced her, who acknowledged Brace with a smile. James left her to warm herself by the fire while he drew Brace aside.

“What’s this?” James held up the book and letter.

“Books from a Mr. Cholmondeley for Miss Bow. Came by post with a letter. She obviously has an admirer.” Brace said in an undertone, “She asked me a lot of questions today.”

“And did you give her a lot of answers?”

“I told her nothing,” Brace responded.

“And yet you have so much to tell—”

They were interrupted by the sound of Lorna’s heels on the stairs. “Oh, we need some more coal for my fireplace. It’s freezing.”

James turned away from Brace and took Caroline’s elbow. “Miss Bow, may I present Mrs. Caroline Grant.”

Caroline dipped a curtsey and held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I saw you in _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ last year. Your Titania was unparalleled. I vow I’ve never laughed so hard.”

Lorna’s usual mocking smile widened as she shook Caroline’s hand and returned the curtsey. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Grant. How delightful to find an appreciative audience.”

“I understand you’re performing _Merchant of Venice_ now,” Caroline said.

“Yes, among patriotics. Are you a devotee of Shakespeare?”

“Oh, yes. I love his plays. There is nothing like a Shakespearean comedy to make me laugh, or a tragedy to make me cry. I will admit that I merely appreciate his histories, but I adore his sonnets.”

“As do I!” Lorna crowed.

“Then you will be delighted with the gift you’ve received,” Caroline said, gesturing to the book James had left on a side table. “His complete sonnets, I believe.”

Lorna’s eyes flicked to James, and even he could see the hope that leapt in them. He turned his back and stared into the fire. “Mr. Cholmondeley is not a suitable man for you,” he growled.

“Oh, no, of course not.” Lorna collected the book and letter and sat down on the couch behind him. “You must keep him all for yourself. Mrs. Grant, would you care to sit with me and enjoy a short recitation while Mr. Delaney goes about whatever crucial and mysterious business has brought him home?”

“I would, I thank you,” Caroline responded. She sat down on the couch next to Lorna and met James’s eye as he glared at them over his shoulder. “Mr. Delaney, aren’t you on some crucial and mysterious business?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, and turned on his heel to follow Brace up the stairs.

Behind him, he could hear Lorna’s clear, trained voice. “This is one of my favourites. ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun—‘”

James increased his pace up the stairs.

*

They returned to Mayfair with a little light to spare. After leaving the horses and phaeton – along with two coppers and a dire threat from James should anything happen to the carriage – with a street urchin, they walked along Sackville Street in the gloaming. Unlike Pall Mall and Westminster Bridge, this area of London was still lit by oil lamps, and James could see a lamplighter and his assistant beginning their work on the next corner.

“Did you enjoy your visit with Miss Bow?” James asked, as they passed the lamplighter.

“Very much. I think you do injustice to both Miss Bow and her canary. Although I will admit that I saw a few droppings. But as you never sat in any chair for even a moment, surely you cannot find them too objectionable.”

“I object to anything being kept in a cage,” James said darkly. “I was deeply disappointed to find no window open and no seed scattered when I descended.”

“James, you are too cruel. You cannot deprive Miss Bow of her one companion. She is all alone in that house. Your butler appears to want her dead. I swear he positioned that scuttle by the couch deliberately so she would trip over it when she rose. She could have broken her neck.”

“If you have such affection for her, you should invite her to your next tea with Countess Cowper. I’m sure Miss Bow would be quick to attend.”

“I shall, you know. Just to spite you.”

“Doing things to spite me will end badly for your arse, I warn you.”

“James!”

He chuckled, his good humour restored, and turned into the unprepossessing façade at number forty-one. Caroline walked easily at his side, apparently unsuspecting of his goal.

An officious clerk greeted them at the door. “Welcome to Thomas Gray, sir, madam. How may we help you this evening?”

“Pearls,” James said curtly.

“Of course, sir, of course. In a setting or a strand?”

“A strand. To fit the lady’s neck.”

“Excellent, sir, excellent. Please have a seat.” He waved them onto a stiffly upholstered couch and retreated towards the back of the otherwise empty, parlour-style showroom.

Caroline looked up at him wonderingly as he handed her onto the couch. “James, what are you doing?” she whispered.

“I am making an extravagant gesture, madam. Something I am not much given to doing.”

“No, I would not have thought it in your character. James, truly, I do not want for jewels.”

“I know,” James responded. He’d seen the cases on her dressing table. He’d also noticed she didn’t wear any jewellery except a simple gold ring that he assumed was her wedding band. He thought she might treat a gift from him differently. “I want to see my pearls around your neck.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I want to see you in my pearls and nothing else.”

She turned redder than the crimson carpet, which she might have blamed on the stuffy room, if James had not known the true reason.

The officious clerk returned with his doubly-officious master a minute later, bearing trays on which a dozen strands of pearls were spread. James had no doubt the display was designed to be elegant and enticing. The pearls were supposed to resemble drops of moonlight against the black velvet sky, or some such conceit. James wondered what they’d think if he told them that to him their careful arrangement looked like teeth scattered on broken soil.

He decided not to disabuse them of their pretensions as he selected a strand from the middle of one tray. The pearls were neither the largest, nor the smallest, but to James’s eyes they were well-matched and he thought their creamy colour would complement Caroline’s skin. He curled the strand around her bare neck and was pleased to see it nestle against her collar-bones in exactly the way he’d imagined.

“This one,” he told the clerk.

“South Sea pearls, sir. An excellent choice. Shall I send you our account?”

“No, I’ll pay now, in gold.”

This caused consternation between clerk and master, but James prevailed and the clerk was sent scuttling out into the drizzle to fetch change for James’s sovereigns.

As they reclaimed their phaeton from the urchin, Caroline stroked James’s arm with one hand and the pearls around her throat with the other. “This is a very extravagant gesture, James.”

“It is, madam,” James agreed.

“What may I offer in thanks for such an extravagant gesture?”

James handed her up into the seat, took his place beside her and took the reigns from the boy before he answered her. “There is a form of gratitude which you initially offered me, which I would be happy now to accept. But.” He paused as he flicked the reigns and started her team off through the dusk towards her house on Harley Street. “Only if it is offered in the same spirit as the gift itself. As a gesture between lovers, rather than a form of payment. I do not seek to buy your affections, Caroline. Only to express, as my words might not, my gratitude for the peace and pleasure you give me.”

She leaned against his side, wrapping her hands around his arm, and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Your actions are perfectly eloquent.”

As were hers.

*

James had known the bored lips of whores, and the practiced throats of so-called ladies. None of his experiences prepared him for Caroline’s enthusiastic exploration. She traced his cock with her fingertips, touching him everywhere, until he was fully erect and his balls drawn up tight and aching against his body. Then she lapped at him with her moist tongue, tracing the veins, dipping unashamedly into his slit, until he grasped the headboard of her bed as he strained for control.

“Madam, whatever you do, do not stop,” he gritted.

She lifted her head, framing his erection between the curtains of her hair and the cream backdrop of her breasts. The strand of pearls that had won him this agonising pleasure brushed along his shaft and James gripped the headboard until the veins stood out in his arms. Had she been his sister, she would have stopped, and tormented him until he crawled after her and buried his face between her thighs. But not Caroline. She smiled gently, and lowered her head.

James felt his eyes roll back in his head as she took his crown into her mouth, swirled her tongue around it, and began to suck.

“Sweet fuck,” James groaned.

He felt her giggle more than heard it, the motion of her throat producing a vibration along his captured head and shaft that made his blood surge.

“More of that,” he growled. “Sing for me.”

Another giggle, followed by a distinct hum. She took him deeper, sucking him down, as she hummed in the back of her throat, and James considered whether he’d lose his mind before he lost his seed. She shifted, to better accommodate him in the recesses of her mouth, and her hair brushed all along his stomach and thighs. James tried to resist the urge to fist his hands in that soft mass, but lost the battle.

At the urging of his hands, she found a rhythm, taking him to the back of her mouth on a deep pull, then laving the underside of his shaft with her tongue as she released him. James found himself groaning uncontrollably with each suckle. The pressure in his balls, now and then tickled by the pearls, grew from pleasurable to unbearable, and James knew he would have to find release soon.

“Madam, I free you from my earlier command. Stop what you’re doing and ride me.”

She lifted her head again and looked up at him without guile. “I’d like to taste you.”

James let his head fall back against the board. “As you will, madam, I am at your mercy.”

She took him back in her mouth, kissing and licking before she consumed him again. James gave himself over to her, surrendering control in a way he never did. She set the pace, her inexperience offset by that disarming adoration she showered on him. She broke the deep suckling that took him right to the edge of madness to press hot little kisses on his inner thighs. She returned to the soul-shaking sucking only to be distracted by his leaking seed, which she lapped away. James found himself writhing, roaring, in unbearable pleasure and tension, as she discovered the mobility of the skin on his shaft and worked him first with fingertips and then with fist, while she drew his enflamed crown back and forth between her lips, nibbling at him as she would a plum.

When he could finally take no more, he broke, “End it. Now, Caroline.”

She gave him a look of adorable confusion, and James realised she didn’t know how. “Take me fully in your mouth.” When she did, he stroked her head and showed her the rhythm he needed. She settled into it with unequalled will and James gave himself over to her determined suckling. At last, his pleasure came in wild gusts that left him shaking long after she had swallowed the last drop.

“Come,” he whispered hoarsely, and held his hands out to her. She slid up his body and settled against his chest.

“Have a drink of wine to ease your throat,” he told her.

She lay her head down on his chest and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. “My throat is not sore and I want nothing to wash away your taste. It will be gone too soon as it is.”

He stroked her soft head, stared up at the canopy overhead and thought of nothing. Nothing at all. For the first time in longer than he could remember. Not his plans for revenge. Not the horrors of the past. Not his agonising visions. Nothing. His mind was as clear and calm as spring water.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Caroline,” he whispered.

“If it is half of what you do to me, then I have a very good idea.” She turned her head and kissed his chest.

He cuddled her very close until she fell asleep. Then he turned her on her side and wrapped himself around her, and held her as a shield against all that would ripple the calm waters of his mind.

*

James woke at another of her maid’s discrete knocks. Checking to ensure they were covered, he called quietly, “Come.”

The girl slipped into the room carrying a scuttle nearly as big as she was and rushed straight to the dying fire with a soft cry of, “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

“Do not concern yourself,” James whispered, loudly enough for the girl to hear but not loudly enough, he hoped, to wake Caroline. “I would not let your mistress catch chill.”

“Oh!” The girl bobbed up, curtseyed, and then, clearly distracted by her dereliction of duty, dropped back to her knees to build up the fire. “I’m sorry to disturb, sir. It’s just that Mr. Grant caught his death from cold and I’ve always wondered, I’ve always thought, sir, that perhaps if I’d been with them in that terrible place then he might not have sickened.”

Caroline stirred against James and he became instantly more interested in the press of her buttocks against his thighs than the state of the fire or the maid’s distress.

“Maria, I had no idea that you blamed yourself for Mr. Grant’s final illness.” Caroline slid up onto her elbow to look at the maid and tucked the sheet around her with her other arm. “I promise you it was in no way your fault, or the result of any lack of attention. Mr. Grant was simply old, and his lungs were always his weakness. He told me so many times. I hate that you thought for a moment that Mr. Grant’s cough was in any way down to you. He was always very complementary about your services.”

The girl bobbed up again, curtseyed and rushed out with her chin quivering.

Caroline lay back against James. “Dear me.”

“Your staff are very conscientious,” he said, running his hand down the soft curve of her hip. “Perhaps excessively so.”

“Indeed. All these years, I never had an inkling that Maria felt responsible. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Richard was nearly seventy, you know. That’s old by any measure.”

“An age when a man should be sat by a fire, rather than traipsing around a place as perilous as Manchester,” James agreed.

She rolled over and propped herself on his chest when he obligingly settled onto his back. “James,” she said, and he could tell by her tone and the twist of her soft mouth that she’d understood his humour. “I actually like Manchester a great deal. It’s very energetic and industrious. It would suit you well, if you weren’t headed to the continent.”

 _I am headed far further away than that, my linnet_ , he thought, and for the first time, his travels beyond France lost a little of their promise. He stroked the silken waves spread across her shoulder and his chest. “Have you thought of returning to the city of your birth?”

“Philadelphia? No, I hadn’t. Why?”

“After London Society, the New World must have limited appeal.”

“You know that London Society disappoints me in many ways. It is not my friends or the social whirl that have kept me here since Richard’s death. It was his business interests and then the outbreak of the war.”

 _Which is over in all but name_ , thought James. _It is safe for you to travel again. But where would you choose to travel to, my linnet_?

As he was wondering, Caroline turned her head and looked at the little enamelled clock sitting on the mantle. “Before the Singhs retire for the evening, would you like some supper?”

James felt the ache of hunger, but it was not for food. “I’ve dined very well in your house, madam. If you desire supper, I will join you, but please do not order it on my account.”

“You’ve eaten nothing since breakfast,” she observed. “You’re not in the habit of eating regularly, are you?”

“No,” James admitted.

She slid up to press a kiss on his cheek. “That’s doubtless why you are so sleek.” She ran her hand down his chest to rest on his stomach below the line of bandage. “I adore your shape here. When you press your strong belly against me, I feel I might go mad with longing. But it is insupportable that you go hungry.”

Apparently unaware of the sharp and sudden arousal she’d created, she slid out of the bed and crossed to the wall where there were three bell-pulls and tugged on the third. James heard a bell ring distantly.

“Madam,” he growled. “You will return to this bed. Immediately.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, and James saw nothing of the coquette. She was simply curious as to his tone and command. _You have no idea the power you have over me,_ he thought. _One touch and a handful of words and I am as randy as when I lay with Helga as a lad_.

She shook out her hair before she walked back to the bed and James realised she thought she was veiling her nudity in some way. As though he couldn’t see her little pink nipples peeking through the curls, or the long, lovely curves of her legs. _Still modest, my linnet_ , he thought. _Still shy. After all we’ve already shared, and all that is to come_.

When she climbed up onto the bed and slid back under the covers, she said, “One of my staff is going to knock on the door in a minute. Probably Maria, who, as far as I know, is still a virgin.”

“Then you will have to ride me very, very quietly.”

“James!”

“Mount up, madam,” he insisted. “And let us see if my belly has the same effect on you from below as from above.”

“Your cheek, sir!”

“Both left and right are at your service. If you wish to grasp them while you gallop, be my guest.”

“James!”

Her outrage was interrupted by the promised knock on the door.

“Mrs. Grant would like supper,” James growled, loudly enough to be heard, as he pulled Caroline over him.

“You rogue,” she protested in a whisper, then in a more carrying tone, said, “Could you please ask Mrs. Singh to serve supper in the parlour, with coffee and claret for Mr. Delaney?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maria said through the door.

 _At least she no longer sounds tearful_ , James thought. _Perhaps Caroline’s words had some effect_. Then he put the maid out of his mind and focused on more pressing matters. He arranged Caroline over him, guiding her hands to his chest and her legs on either side of his. She didn’t resist, and in fact remained exactly as he positioned her, when the worldly woman she claimed to be might have arched her back or wriggled to entice him.

“Did you never practice your equestrianism on your husband, madam?”

“No, James, you must know the length and breadth of my experience—”

“On your back, in the dark,” James grunted and rocked his hips to rub himself against her.

“Richard was conscious of his age, and the toll it had taken on his physique, and how he might appear to me, so, yes, it was usually in the dark, and he felt that that one position was more natural— ooh!” She broke off in surprise when James positioned himself and pushed up into her. She bowed over him, grasping his chest with her hands and dropping her head so her hair streamed over him. James brushed it off his face and over her shoulder, grasping it in one hand. “James,” she gasped. “That feels very deep.”

“Mmm, yes, it does. Are you too sore for this?”

“No, it’s just, very deep, very full.”

It was both of those things and James gloried in the sensation as he worked himself all the way in to the root. Once he was seated in her, he grasped her smooth, round hips and showed her how to ride him, which she did with a will as strong as her sucking. When she seemed confident in their rhythm, he slid one hand over her hip and slipped two fingers between her nether lips.

She gasped when he touched her swollen button, and looked down at their joined bodies as though surprised by what he had found.

“James!”

“Quietly, my sweet, lest we scandalise your innocent maid.” He rubbed her, and rocked with her, and smiled at her gasps. “Have you never touched yourself here, Caroline?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then I give you leave to do so. Whenever I cannot be with you, I give you leave to touch yourself here, and here.” He reached up and pinched her nipple and was rewarded with a shocked bounce that shot hot sensation up into his stomach. “And anywhere else that gives you pleasure. All the places that I will touch when I return.”

“Oh, James, oh, oh, oh,” she gasped, grasping hard at his chest.

“Yes, sweet, is my belly working its magic on you?” James asked, grinning up at her and snapping his hips so she bounced with each thrust.

“James! Oh, it is not your belly, oh! Oh!” She threw her head back and dug her fingers into his chest. James felt the wonderful ripples of her release kneed his length and flutter through her thighs. He rubbed her nubbin until her gasps of pleasure gave over to little sobs, then he pulled her down fully on his chest and let himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've referred to James's horse as a "grey gelding" in this chapter. I'm not colour-blind; the horse is, obviously, white (as well as being absolutely gorgeous). However, I've participated too many times in the Great White Horse Debate to make the mistake of calling it a "white" horse. The horse's dark skin colour is visible on its nose, so it's a grey. I hope this doesn't confuse my gentle readers.


	5. Chapter 5

He wore only his shirtsleeves, trousers and stockings down to supper, but there was no one to shock. Her staff had left the cold supper, tea and claret on a table drawn close to the fire. He had no doubt they would clear after he and Caroline retired.

“Your staff are exceptional,” he told Caroline as she sat across from him and arranged the long skirts of her dressing gown. He watched her as she sat, but saw no wincing and was satisfied as to her comfort. “Yet there is one missing. Where is your housekeeper?”

“Mrs. Todd? I pensioned her off after Mr. Grant’s death. She was nearly as old as he and suffered terribly from rheumatism. Why do you ask?”

“It’s unusual, not to have a housekeeper.”

“Do you think it’s obvious?” She asked as she cut a slice of pigeon pie and put it on his plate.

“Obvious?” James watched as she spooned buttered vegetables and devilled eggs onto the plate beside the pie. “Ah, a housekeeper, particularly one who had not been with you for years, might suspect your republican activities and betray you.”

She nodded.

“But the Singhs surely do not care.”

“Not at all. Thomas is usually out with the horses and Maria cannot read, poor girl, although I have tried to teach her.”

“I see.” James waited until she’d filled her own plate, then set into the pie with an appetite that surprised him. He’d not felt hungry when he sat down to eat, but now he felt the pinch. “Everything that comes out of your kitchen is excellent,” he said after several bites.

“Thank you, but it is entirely down to Mrs. Singh. She’s a superb cook.” She poured two glasses of claret and took a sip. “You would have made a fine correspondent yourself, sir.”

James lifted an eyebrow at her. “How is that, madam?”

“No one else has questioned my lack of housekeeper. They take it as a sign of my eccentricity, I suppose. But you realised the truth of it on only two days acquaintance.”

“It has been a very close acquaintance,” James allowed.

Caroline bowed her head; the curtains of her hair, more gold than ash in the firelight, fell to shade her face. James reached out and brushed her hair back. When his fingertips touched her cheeks, he felt the heat there.

“What have I said to embarrass you, my sweet?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She straightened, but didn’t meet his eyes. “The brevity of our connection came home to me sharply just then.”

“You mean that you have come to know me better in two days than my closest associates have in years?”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Is that true?”

“I’ve never told you a falsehood. Nor do I intend to.”

“Well, it was a question rather than a confession, but I will take any concession from you.” After another drink of wine, she asked, “Who is your closest confidant? Someone you left behind in Africa?”

“I had no confidants in Africa. I had captors, slaves and fellow slavers. One man only was kind to me, and I buried him years ago. My time in Africa was profitable, not pleasant.”

“I am sorry. I hope I have made the last two days pleasant at least.”

“Extremely. I have never dined so well, slept so well, or been loved so well.”

Caroline coloured again. “I am pleased to be able to show you some of the hospitality that has been lacking.”

“It is more than hospitality, madam. You have made me feel at home.” _A true home_ , James thought. _Which I have never known before_. “My father’s house was a cold place, even on the hottest summer’s day. It was chilled by my mother’s despair, and then her madness, and finally her death. In John Company’s academy, I thought I found brotherhood, but it was all hollow. False faces and lies. The best of my brothers was a secret sodomite. My commander sent me off to an almost certain death and when it became certain, my captain ordered me to commit unspeakable evil—”

He stopped, unready to speak of the horrors that haunted him.

Caroline reached across the table and placed her hand over his. When he realised his hand was shaking, he put down his fork and grasped her fingers tightly. “You have no reason to be uncertain of our connection, my linnet. In two days, you have given me more than I have ever had or ever hoped to have.”

“I am glad, James,” she said softly.

“So.” He cleared his throat and released her hand. Caroline sat back in her chair and took a sip of claret, silently freeing him from the intensity of the moment. He hummed gratefully. “What shall we do with our third day?” he asked her.

“May I see the ship you bought? I hear she is fair and fleet.”

“Yes. And I will take you walking in Vauxhall Garden, as promised. You may wear your French lace and silks and show off your new pearls.”

“And you your new linen,” she said.

James’s mouth quirked at her small jibe. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Do you attend church?”

Caroline bowed her head, and instead of flaring, her cheeks paled. “I will attend with you if you like.”

“I do not, and that is not what I asked.”

She looked up and her eyes searched her face. “I do not attend church. Not since Richard passed.”

“Why not?”

“I prefer to study the scriptures on my own,” she said. “I have no liking for sermons.”

James sat back in his own chair while he regarded her. “You are a true Original,” he said at length.

“Please don’t criticise me—”

“You misunderstand, linnet. I have no use for church or churchmen. And of all the people I have met who profess to study holy writ, you are one of the few I believe actually does. What drove you away from pew and pulpit? Was it your husband’s death, or the free-thinkers of your birthplace?”

“Neither.” She gazed into her wineglass. “It’s not something I speak about. Please don’t make me.”

That gave James pause. Always before, her resistance had been playful. Reticence from modesty and good-breeding, or simply inexperience. This was different.

James slid his hand under her chin and raised her eyes to his. “I told you at the start that I would never hurt what I have been so tenderly offered. I would do nothing to deliberately wound you, Caroline. If there are places in your past, your mind or your heart that are closed to me, you need only tell me and I will respect your privacy.”

“I don’t want to deny you anything,” she whispered. “You asked me to be truthful with you and I have been. You said only lies make fools of men; I do not want to lie to you. Not about anything. So please let me be silent on this. I cannot tell the truth. It is too shameful.”

James nodded and released her, although he had no intention of quitting the subject for good. There was some deep, old pain there. Something entirely other than religious freedom or dissention. For no reason he could have named, James linked it in his mind with her shyness, and realised that he had misnamed it. It was not shyness; it was shame.

“Caroline, did a churchman abuse you?”

“What?!” She dropped her fork and knife with a clatter. She shot to her feet, and then realising there was no escape, paced to the fireplace and gripped the mantle. “How could you guess such a thing?”

James rose, collected her cutlery and placed it on her plate, before he went to stand behind her at the mantle. He ran his hand down the fall of her hair, haloed in the firelight.

“Am I right?” When she shivered he said, “You need only nod.”

She nodded.

“It was long ago, wasn’t it?” he asked, feeling his way around this old wound. “When you lived in America. When you were a child. A beautiful child,” he guessed. “Fair and sunny. Nod if I’m right.”

She nodded again, sadly, slowly.

“Happy, open, a friend to all.” He thought of the hints he’d seen, of carefree daring, of charming mischief, which he’d thought merely buried beneath her social polish, but now he wondered if they hadn’t been brutalised out of her. “Boisterous, free-spirited. How old were you?”

“Seven,” she whispered.

“Did you dislike sermons even then?”

“Yes. Joshua and I would hide his pegs in my apron and play pegs during the service. That was how it started.”

“You were caught playing pegs?” He kissed the back of her head and cupped it in his hand. “Did the parson discipline you?”

She nodded under his hand.

“How?”

“He whipped us with his belt. Ten strokes for Joshua, who I never saw cry before that day. Fifteen strokes for me, because I was a daughter of Lilith who had led my brother astray.”

James wrapped his arms around her. “How long did it go on?”

“Three years.”

 _So long_ , James thought. _Ten, she wasn’t a woman yet, but age matters little to a monster. She might have been raped_. James was well aware of the effect of such an assault on a girl so young. He had seen it many times among the slaves. “How did it end?”

“My brother Daniel caught him. The Reverend had come to our house to condole with us. My mother was already ill and he visited weekly. Before he left, he always made me be private with him, for Christian instruction, he said, and that’s when he would make me undress and hurt me. That day, my room was being papered, so we went into my brothers’ room. Daniel came in and found us.”

“Surely no one blamed you, Caroline.”

“Oh, the good Reverend Brown did,” she said bitterly. “He called me a daughter of Satan, sent to lead Christian men to Hell. The things he did – pinching my thighs and beating my legs with his strap – he did those things to drive the devil out of me. He always said that, but it was the first time he’d said it to anyone else and it sounded so laughable, James. So laughable, I could hardly believe that I had credited it. Daniel took no notice. He was already a man then, not a boy. He had marched with President Washington, and he knew what he had seen and what it meant. He nearly killed Reverend Brown right there. If our mother had not been ill and started calling out at the commotion, I think he would have. He dragged the Reverend out of our house and threw him into the horse trough and told him to leave town before sunset or my brothers would come after him with their rifles. Daniel’s a crack shot. All my brothers are. The Reverend went.”

“Did your brothers go after him?”

“No. But I wish—”

“You wish they had.”

“Yes, and if that makes me unchristian—”

“It makes you human, Caroline. You were a child and he hurt you in a way no adult should hurt a child. He destroyed your faith. I can think of no more righteous cause for vengeance.” He kissed the top of her head again.

They stood in silence for several moments, with his arms tight around her, until Caroline said, “I am sorry to have interrupted your supper with this. It was very long ago.”

“Some old hurts are not easily forgotten,” James replied. He turned her in his arms and looked into her eyes. They were dry, and slightly glazed from staring into the fire, and the past. James felt he could more easily have borne her tears than that bleak stare. “Come back to the table, my sweet.”

She went willingly with him, and after taking a sip of wine, began eating again. James waited until they were both finished before he asked, “Have you told anyone else?”

She shook her head without meeting his eyes, keeping hers downcast.

“Why not your husband?”

“Richard was not overly pious, but he would not have believed such evil of a man of God. He held the clergy in high esteem. I could see it in his eyes when we attended services, in his face when he spoke to them. He was _honoured_ when those men came to our house.”

“Did you fear that he would blame you?”

She nodded without looking up.

“Linnet, you are blameless. Everything that man told you was a lie. He excused his own perversity with lies. He bound you to shame and silence with lies. You are beautiful and innocent and blameless.”

She looked up and managed a small smile. James reached out and traced the corners of her mouth with this thumb.

“Perhaps no longer innocent,” she said.

“You are wholly innocent, madam. You adore instead of desire. Your passion is pure. That is why it feels so very different. Do not think me unaware. I have known many women – no, don’t look at me like that – my profligate past is no secret. I have known many women, but I have never known such unfettered sweetness. It is a great gift, and I would not have you think I am unaware of it.”

Her smile widened and turned real.

“Now that you have told me the source of your shame, you need think no more on it. It’s hard to forgive the injuries of childhood. Harder still to surrender the ghosts of old hurts. But when you are with me, you will not think on that man or what he did to you. You will not feel any shame, because there is no shame between lovers, and I am your lover, am I not?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “You are.”

“Then you will believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful, and you will believe me when I tell you that you are blameless. And that will be the end of it.”

She tipped her head to the side and watched him for a long moment. James thought she would argue, but instead she said, “I will think of how you look at me. When you look at me like that, like a lion looks at his lioness, I feel beautiful, and I feel no shame.”

“There is surely no shame between lions.”

“No,” she allowed. She finished her wine and poured herself a cup of tea. “Did you see many lions in Africa?”

“No, there are not many lions near the _Asante_ lands. But I saw a few and that was enough. Once you have seen a lion, it is forever impressed on your memory.”

“Oh?”

James hummed. “They are called the King of Beasts for a reason. There is something innately majestic about them.”

“I have only seen paintings and pelts. They are beautiful, but I would not have guessed at the majesty. Is it the way they look? I imagine them to be living, liquid gold.”

“It is everything. The way they move. The way they regard you. Most other animals, even predators, run away from men. Not lions. They look at you, and there is no fear. They are the lords of their land, and you are their prey.”

“You have seen wondrous things, James.”

“Yes,” he allowed.

“And terrible things.”

“Yes.”

“Do the terrible outweigh the wondrous?”

“For now. But the more I look at you, my linnet, the more the scales are balanced.”

She smiled. “Then look your fill.”

“Oh, I will.”

*

She read to him before bed. Sitting in the comfortable armchairs before her fire. She read not Voltaire, which she said she would save for their journey, but Milton, who she was reading in a fine new edition.

When her voice grew a little hoarse, James glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw that it was long after midnight. “Bed, my sweet,” he said.

She glanced at him, and then the clock, and shut the book with a snap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late.”

“It’s still early for the _ton_ , I know, but I don’t keep Society hours.”

“No, nor I, usually. Two late nights in a row and I am useless.”

“Then come to bed, and we’ll see if we can’t find some paradise before we sleep.”

She smiled, marked her page with a ribbon that had seen much use and put the book aside. When he offered her his hand, she rose with him. “Do you believe there might be an earthly paradise out there? Waiting to be discovered?”

“No,” James said as they mounted the stairs. “I’ve sailed to many parts of this world and only found the opposite.”

“Hell on earth?” Caroline asked.

“Aye.”

“I’ve read that there are islands near Australia that are as close to paradise as man can attain on Earth. Have you been to Fiji?”

“No. Gbagle is as far east as I’ve gone. It was war-torn, and in the grip of an epidemic. Wherever man goes, he brings strife and disease. Yet I think that you would find life on a deserted island dull.”

“There would be a shortage of salons and soirees,” Caroline said.

“Mmm, but think, you would always set the fashion.”

Caroline laughed. Hearing her mirth, it hit him how many hours it had been since he’d heard that sweet sound. James let her mount the step above him, then he reached an arm behind her knees and the other across her back, and scooped her up. She gave a little gasp of surprise and threw her arms around his neck.

“This night has not proceeded as I planned, madam,” James said, once he had her settled in his arms.

“No?” she asked. “What did you have planned? Did you have an engagement?”

“No.” He climbed the last two steps. “But neither did I think that we would spend the night in such painful reminisces. I swore I would not wound you, but I fear I may have done so in making you admit the source of your shame to me. Tell me you’re not hiding a fresh wound behind that polished smile.”

She laid her head against his shoulder and curled her hand around the back of his neck. “Thank you, James.”

“That isn’t an answer, sweet.”

She stroked the back of his neck as he nudged open the door to her bedroom with his toes and carried her over the threshold. “I don’t have an answer. Thank you for asking. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Have I wounded you, Caroline?” he asked, setting her on her feet beside the bed.

She shook her head and looked up at him with clear eyes. “If it is a wound, it is an old wound, and needed to be drained. I feel sore, but I also feel relief. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, like lancing a boil.”

Caroline gave him a dimpled smile. “Ladies do not have boils.”

“Of course not, but if you did, a great deal of pus and foul matter would have oozed from the boil we lanced tonight.”

“What a charming topic for my bedchamber, sir.”

James smiled slowly. “If your good humour has returned, then you are indeed drained of the past’s evil. I promise tomorrow will be lighter, my linnet. We need not speak of ghosts or loss or anything else that makes your eyes go so bleak as when you were staring into the fire. I had no liking for that look, Caroline. It does not belong in your eyes.”

Caroline took a step towards him and slid her arms around his neck. “I am happy to speak of anything you want, at any time of your choosing. But I, too, promise to be a gay companion tomorrow. No more brooding on the past.”

“Good.” He scooped her up again and set her on the bed. He removed his stockings, trousers and shirt and placed them on a clothes horse that the diligent Maria had set in the corner for his use. Caroline slid across the bed and moved over to her washstand. James watched her ablutions out of the corner of his eye. She bathed more than most women of his acquaintance, and he wondered if that was because she felt the filth of this city as keenly as he did.

Naked, he padded across the thickly-carpeted floor and stood behind her at the washstand.

She rinsed sweet-scented suds off her face and neck and looked over her shoulder at him. “I was going to bring the basin and towel to the bed and wash you.”

He traced a line of delicate embroidery running down the arm of her robe with his fingertip. “Am I dirty?”

“Your skin’s so tanned, I cannot tell, but it’s refreshing to wash before bed, whether or not required.”

 _You refresh me_ , he thought. _I came to you bruised, aching, soul-weary and you have washed away my ills with your tender care_. He nodded and moved to the bed. After brushing her teeth and nails, she joined him, kneeling at his side as he stretched out on his back, and setting the promised basin and towel on the nightstand.

“Maria put the bucket by the fire, so the water is pleasantly warm,” she said, dipping the towel in the basin before laving his temple and cheek.

“She’s a thoughtful girl,” James offered.

“She is, and so tender-hearted. I really am quite beside myself that she blamed herself for Richard’s illness.” Caroline passed the towel across his forehead, then dabbed at the scar that cut down through his eye. “I’m not pulling on this, am I?”

“No, it’s long-healed.”

She smiled down at him as she ran the tip of her finger down his scar. “I love the rakish air it gives you. You look like a pirate.”

“That’s one thing I have not been.”

“Have you met any?” She leaned across him to clean his other cheek.

“No, I’ve outrun Spanish privateers a few times, but I’ve never met any man who admitted to being a pirate.”

“I suppose that would be foolish, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmm, foolish enough to get them run through or their necks stretched. Honest sailors have little love for pirates, as honest travellers have little love for highwaymen.”

She tipped his chin up with her soft fingers before washing his jaw and throat. “I have never met a pirate, or a highwayman. My travels have been rather uneventful, actually, except for the occasional stomach upset. Richard always suffered from sea-sickness the first day or two of any journey, and again when the seas were rough.”

“And you, madam?” James asked lazily. She was right: whether he needed it or not, washing before bed was refreshing. It was also relaxing. James stretched and pushed back into the pillows. _As close to earthly paradise as I aspire_ , he thought.

“Me? I have never suffered from sea-sickness. The sea is in the Morris blood. We have been merchants and sailors since we were the _O Muiris_ of Galway.”

“A fine sailor, as well as a fine horsewoman,” James said approvingly. “Your ancestors and brothers did you proud. If your brothers had taught you to use a sword, you’d have made a worthy pirate yourself.”

“Do you think so?” She smiled down at him and balanced herself across his chest while she took his hand and washed the back and fingers before turning his hand over and cleaning his palm. “I have a very jaunty feathered tricorn that I bought for a masquerade some years back, before turbans became the rage. If I were a pirate, I would wear my tricorn and call myself Black Caroline and be the terror of the King’s navy.”

James chuckled. “You are a little fair for that moniker.”

“I could put boot-black in my hair.”

“I think Caroline the Red would be more apt, for what the salt and sun would do to your fair skin if you spent many days above-decks.”

Caroline giggled wildly. “Can I tell you something very wicked? I promise this is not as terrible as any of the other things we have discussed tonight. I tell it to you for amusement only.”

James reached out with the hand she wasn’t washing and wrapped it around her waist, pressing her against his chest. “Entertain me, then.”

She leaned over and rinsed the towel before applying it to his throat in slow, damp circles. “For our honeymoon, Richard took me to Venice. On our trip back, my clothes chest was somehow lost in the ship’s loading—”

“Or stolen. I’ve been to Venice. It is infested with thieves.”

She grinned. “As you say. The loss was only discovered when we were out at sea. I spent three days in the same gown before I could no longer bear it and begged the captain give me leave to wear men’s clothing. The captain was so embarrassed by the loss of my trunk that he agreed and I dressed as a man, in shirt, weskit, coat and breeches, for the rest of the trip. It was so comfortable! I could not believe how free I felt in a man’s clothes. And the sailors barely took notice of me when I wore coat and breeches. They talked and even swore freely in front of me. The first mate took to teaching me knots when the captain wasn’t looking. I was so much less confined in a man’s clothes and the only shame of it was that my face and hands got very brown from the sun. My friends were quite appalled when I returned and I had to bathe three times a day in milk and elderflower water to restore my complexion. But I did not forget the freedom of those days, and when Richard proposed to take me with him to Madeira, I begged him to let me dress as a lad—”

“Madam, no one could mistake you for a boy.” True, her breasts were modest and might have been concealed, but her lovely round bottom could never be taken for a man’s arse. “Did no one notice your smooth cheeks? Your lack of bollocks?”

“Eat your words, sir. I was never discovered. Not once in a dozen trips.”

“You did not dress as a boy a dozen times,” James growled.

“I did.” She laughed. “Richard introduced me as his great-nephew, Carolingus Augustus Grant, _Lingie_ for short, which is what Richard called me anyway, and took me everywhere with him. It is how I learned his business. I will have you know I was so successful as a boy that his business partner in Madeira offered me a year’s apprenticeship to learn the wine trade.”

“How did your poor husband take that?”

“He was scandalised, but Richard viewed my whole masquerade with bemusement. I told you he indulged me.”

“Indeed. Few men would allow their wives such liberties. Had you no thought for the risk, madam? What if you had been unmasked?”

“Richard was always with me. We travelled on his ships, where he was master, so no harm would have come to me if I’d been discovered, and there is nothing precisely illegal about pretending to be a boy, although I will admit that his business associates would not have taken kindly to being so deceived.”

“No, they would not. No wonder you got along so famously with Miss Bow. You are both well-practiced in the art of make-believe.”

Caroline finished washing his other hand, dropped the cloth into the basin and leaned against his chest. She gazed down at him with an expression that James found hard to read, but he thought might be fondness. “I would have liked being an actress very much. I do dearly love Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare. Milton. Voltaire. Is there anyone you do not read, madam?”

“It is terrible to admit, but I have not much liking for Mr. Wordsworth’s poems. Even when he dances with the daffodils, he is a little dull.”

“You’re a walking scandal,” James jibed. “Let me guess, you scorn Mr. Wordsworth’s humble daffodils for Lord Byron’s fiery phaeton.”

Caroline laughed lightly and slid down onto her elbow, cradling her cheek in her palm. Her position gave James a fine view down to the front of her dressing gown. _It is a miracle no one noticed those pert little breasts, even hidden under a man’s weskit and coat_ , he thought.

“You are Childe Harold come to life, sir, so it is perhaps fortunate that I prefer the fiery phaeton to those overblown narcissus.” She stroked her fingertips down the clean, cool skin of his breastbone. “But I actually find Lord Byron somewhat verbose. Have you ever read Mr. William Blake? One of his _Songs of Experience_ would suit you perfectly. It is about a tiger. Shall I fetch it?”

“Tomorrow, madam. You may read me poetry over breakfast while I enjoy Mrs. Singh’s excellent eggs and coffee. Then we will go tour my ship while the rest of the city wakes and yawns and takes itself off to church to yawn some more.” James yawned himself, stretched and slid one arm behind his head. “Then we will show off your pearls in Vauxhall Gardens. And finally, we will return home and you will dress in your boy’s coat and breeches and I will show you what happens to naughty cabin boys who fall asleep during their watch.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “What happens?”

“You will have to wait and see, madam.” He would go slowly and do nothing that might remind her of the churchman’s torments, but he fully intended to introduce her to the joys of spanking, as well as add a new position to her growing repertoire.

“You are a terrible tease, sir.”

James yawned again. “Another fault to add to the long list of my character flaws.”

Caroline stretched her arm out and slid all the way down so her head was pillowed on James’s chest. “James, would it be very awful if we went to sleep only? I will, of course, accommodate your desire if you wish, but you seem fatigued and I am very tired and there is always the morning.”

“There is, indeed. There’s also the soreness of your little purse, which might appreciate some time to recover before its next wild escapade.”

Caroline laughed sleepily and tucked her hand under her cheek, her palm warm on James’s skin. “Doesn’t your John Thomas ever get sore?”

“My what?”

“Your John Thomas. That’s what Richard always called it. Isn’t that the name for a man’s member?”

James could not control a chuckle, even though it bounced Caroline on his chest. She sat up, looking disgruntled. “I thought that was its name! I’m sure I heard the sailors call it that, too.”

“And many other things besides, I’ll warrant,” James said, still chuckling. “Yes, my John Thomas is a little chapped, sweet, but it will be well recovered by morning, the better to make the intimate acquaintance of your . . . what shall we call it? Your Mary Margaret? Your Martha Washington? My imagination fails me, madam.”

“You are still laughing at me,” Caroline said, crossing her arms under her breasts.

“With you. Always with you. Come.” He tugged the ties on her dressing gown and slid it off her shoulder. “Come under the covers with me and lie in my arms and I’ll teach you three names for my John Thomas that I promise if you whisper in your passion will not make me laugh at your charming innocence.”

She did as he asked. She always did, and James could not remember any woman being so obliging, not even ones he’d paid for. Curling up against his side, with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest, she said, “I heard a sailor call it a Cock Robin. I’ll admit I didn’t understand that one.”

James grunted to cover his chuckle, since he didn’t want to offend her further. He stroked her soft head and explained, “It’s a Cock Robin because it bobs up out of the grass the way a male robin does when confronting a rival, and because it turns red as a robin’s breast when angry.”

“Angry?” Caroline lifted her head to look up at him.

“Angry.” He lifted his forefinger to demonstrate.

“Oh.”

“So that is the first name I will teach you—”

“That’s cheating, James. I already knew that one.”

“I’m not finished.” He tapped her on the nose. “The first name I will teach you is _cock_ , which I have heard it called from London to Trinidad, so you are safe calling it that anywhere.”

“And you won’t laugh if I call your male member a cockerel?”

 _I will, indeed_ , he thought. “I didn’t say cockerel, sweet. Cock only. Call it a cock and I will not laugh. Tell me what you want me to do with my cock and I will be most attentive. Adore my cock with your hands and mouth as you did earlier, and I will be enraptured.”

Caroline gave him a wry smile and put her head back down, nestling her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder. “And the next?”

“The next is a simple one that’s not so much for when we are intimate, but when you wish to ask a question or offer a polite comment. For example, ‘how is your _nob_ this evening, sir?’ or ‘I vow your _nob_ is as big as an elephant’s’.”

Caroline laughed softly. Her eyes drifted closed and James watched as the soft light from the banked fire rendered her lids and lashes in shades of ink. “I think I have heard that one, too,” she whispered.

“I did not promise three new names, madam. Only three names. Now the third. The third is very rude and should only be used in the crassest of circumstances, such as when one is at Tattersall’s, waiting for the bidding to start, discussing how one used one’s _tickle-tail_ to poke thirteen whores from Pall Mall to St. Pancras in one night.”

“James!” Even scandalized, her sleepy whisper was a mere thread of sound. “Surely gentlemen do no such thing.”

“I assure you they do, and as we have discussed, my dove, there are very few _gentle_ -men in Society.”

“That is terrible . . .” She trailed off and James thought she might have fallen asleep. Then she murmured, “Surely no one could make love thirteen times in one night?”

“Not even a Bacchanite.” He stroked her head. “Sleep, Caroline. I plan to wake you very early so I can hear you exercise your new vocabulary.”

He thought she would respond, but she only sank deeper against his chest as her muscles relaxed into sleep. James smiled up at the gauze canopy overhead, and closed his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke to a soft sighing noise, like wind through the trees. For a moment, James thought he was back in Africa, sleeping in the _Asante_ ’s slave pens, under the _bété_ trees.

He blinked and focused on the gauze canopy overhead. He listened, and heard not the wind in the trees, but Caroline’s gentle snoring.

She’d rolled away from him in the night, and lay on her front, her face turned into her pillow, her arm stretched across his chest. Her hair was spread across his shoulder and the pillow in a tangled swath, glinting silver and gold in the early morning light. James gathered her hair in his hand, let it curl and coil around his fingers. It was impossibly soft. He stroked it for a long time, until his movement disturbed her. She gave a little snuffle and turned her head to look at him. He brushed the tangles off her face and over her shoulder.

“Good morning, James,” she said softly.

“Good morning, linnet.”

“Is there anything I can do for you this morning?” she asked.

He smiled at both her courtesy and her offer.

“Yes, madam. You can stop snoring in my ear.”

Caroline clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers.

James picked a loose curl off her shoulder and used the end to tickle her nose until she smiled at him. “It would be easy to forgive you, had my dreams not been so pleasant.”

“What were you dreaming?”

“Shall I show you?”

“Oh!” Caroline’s smile brightened until it rivalled the sunrise. “Was it one of _those_ dreams? I have those, too.”

“I know you do. Your dream of the river stirred me more than any bawdy tale I’ve been told. Ladies first, then. Tell me your dream.”

She wriggled closer to him, bunching the sheets between them. “But I’m sure my dreams are very dull compared to yours. I just dream about you.”

“I dream of you, too,” James said honestly. He’d had several delightful dreams involving Caroline doing a variety of things, in a variety of positions, which he fully intended to have her do, once she was more relaxed. For this morning, though, he had something simple and hopefully very, very pleasurable in mind, to thank her for her honesty and trust the previous evening.

“Do we dream the same things?” she asked. “Your weight on me? The wonderful feeling of you inside me?”

“Similar. From different perspectives, I’d imagine.”

Caroline gave a soft laugh. “Of course.”

“If you are shy of telling me the particulars of your dream, let’s start with mine.”

“Oh, yes.” She wriggled closer and tentatively pressed a kiss on his jaw.

“Are you shy of me this morning, linnet? After all that has passed between us?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“No, only, I don’t know what you want this morning, and I don’t want to do anything to offend you.”

James pulled her onto his chest and kissed her deep and sweet, despite the staleness of their mouths. “Nothing you do offends me,” he told her between kisses. “Nothing at all, sweet. Lie on your front and I will show you how little I find to offend.”

“Oh.” She gave him another sunrise smile, scooted off him and arranged herself on her front. James guided her hands over her head.

“Put your hands flat against the headboard,” James instructed. She stretched her arms up and pressed her palms against the polished wood.

James ran his eyes over her, lying waiting for his touch. Her hair was in glorious tumbles and waves over her shoulders and the pillows. The early morning light kissed her creamy skin, highlighting the lovely curves of her arms and shoulders, exposed as he drew the white sheet down to her waist. James followed his eyes with his fingertips and then his lips.

Caroline sighed as he mouthed across her shoulders and down her spine. “Oh, that’s delightful.” She shivered in pleasure as he reached the small of her back. “I had no idea I would like being kissed there so much. Is your back as sensitive?”

“I’ve no notion,” James said between kisses. “I give you permission to discover for yourself in future.” He brushed her hair off her nape and rubbed his thumb up and down her soft skin. Caroline sighed and murmured. Because she’d mentioned how much she liked his weight, James rolled up onto his knees and positioned himself over her. His legs fit naturally on the outsides of hers and his cock settled warmly between her thighs.

“Oh, James!” Caroline tipped her hips up in artless invitation. James smiled and kissed her shoulder.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Please, oh, I don’t even know what to ask for, but I love your warmth just there. I want – I want something. I ache so dreadfully.”

“Where do you ache, sweet?”

“There. Just there,” she said, wriggling back against the pressure of his cock. “But James, I don’t see how—”

James smothered a chuckle at her failure of imagination and sweet innocence. “I’ll see to the how. Spread your legs for me and I’ll show you.”

She did, without hesitation or question. Her immediate compliance gratified James at a deep level. A need for control he couldn’t often indulge, even with women he’d paid for. Although he’d tried to school himself not to make comparisons between Zilpha and Caroline, Caroline’s unhesitating surrender to his every demand drew him a thousand times more strongly than Zilpha’s coquettish games.

James kissed Caroline’s nape before sinking back onto his knees.

“Oh, I’ve lost you,” Caroline protested.

“Only for a moment.” James licked his fingers and rubbed down along the cleft of her buttocks to her pouty outer lips. They were already moist and slightly flared. “That’s my delicate dove. You’re ready for your lion.” He stroked her with his fingertips, and when she was wet and whimpering, he repositioned himself behind her. He rubbed his tip up and down her vulva until he was slick and then slowly pushed himself into her.

“Oh, James!”

“Yes, sweet.” He braced himself on one forearm and cupped his free hand over her nape. “Do you see how it’s done now?”

“Yes, yes. I didn’t realise we would fit this way . . . James, is this how lions actually mate?”

“The ones I’ve seen, yes.” He leaned forward to nip at her shoulder. “But now I’ll show you something lions do not do. This is what I dreamed of, linnet, what I’ve only dreamed about since hearing of it. You are the only woman I have done this with. The only woman I’ve given this pleasure.”

He moved his lips up to her nape and kissed down the curve of her spine to between her shoulder blades. With two fingers, he started at the base of her skull and pressed firmly just to the right of her spine. When she gave a soft moan but no protest, he moved his fingers down to the next knob of her spine and pressed again. As he did, he moved his hips, surging within her.

She moaned, full and low, and pressed her hands against the headboard to push back against his thrusts. He slid in to the hilt and felt her grip him. The sweet pressure made every muscle of his body lock. He held himself still, buried deep in her, until he could no longer stand the tension. He collapsed down onto his forearm, resting most of his weight on her soft body, and dropped his face into her neck to nuzzle his mate while he thrust slow and deep within her.

“Do you feel your lion taking you, sweet?”

“Oh, yes, yes, James. There’s pressure, so much pressure. I feel I might burst.”

“Too much?”

“No, oh, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweet. Now, this.” He moved his fingers down to the next knob of her spine and pressed. “At Gorée Island, there was a trader, an Indian man who called himself a Jain. His annual arrival always caused great uproar and anticipation among the ladies, although he was a twig of a man, shorter than you, and as ugly as you are fair.”

James slid his fingers down to the next knob and pressed in, noting her sigh of pleasure and the way her body tightened around his. He whispered in her ear, “Women of all walks, from whores to a Spanish duchess, vied for this man’s attentions. When I asked him his secret, he told me it was an ancient technique known to his people. He said that there is a spot on a woman’s spine, which if pressed during intercourse, produces the ultimate pleasure. It moves, he told me, down the spine, following the rhythm of the moon.” He moved to the next vertebrae and pressed, while drawing his cock out and thrusting slowly back in. Caroline gave a soft wail and shuddered under him. “You just have to work your way down,” he told her, moving down to the next knob.

She tensed under him, twisting. Thinking her release upon her, James thrust a little harder, only to be met with her gasp of “Stop, oh, stop, James. Please stop.”

He withdrew from her immediately and sat back on his heels. “Am I hurting you?”

She clamped her legs together and twisted on the bed. “No . . . oh, no, I—”

Her protest was interrupted by a bilious ripple from between her buttocks. James scooted back in the bed, disbelieving even when the faint whiff of intestinal gas wrinkled his nose.

She rolled onto her back, pulling the bed sheets to her and clasping them to her breast. “Oh, James! Oh, no—”

“Did something disagree with you, my dear? Last night’s supper, perhaps?” He blamed it on the devilled eggs, by the smell. “Or was it the ancients’ damn technique?”

She buried her flaming face in a double-handful of sheets. “James, I am mortified. How will I ever face you again?”

“I’m far more concerned about what happens when you do _not_ face me,” James observed.

“James! Please, you must not make fun of me. I am so terribly embarrassed. What you must think?!”

He smiled, and then, despite himself, began to laugh. He’d found very little funny since his return to this hideous, haunted city. Not until his mistress farted at him.

Once he began laughing, he found he couldn’t stop. He laughed for a full minute, until his lungs were empty and the belly she admired so much ached.

When he could laugh no more, he lay down beside her and held out his arms. She came to him slowly, looking into his face as though gauging his temper. Once she stretched against him, he lifted her to straddle him, took his time and pleasure in entering her, and rocked her slowly on his cock.

“This position seems safer,” he said.

She made to bat his shoulder. He took her hands and held them to his chest while he continued to rock in her.

“James, I cannot apologize enough.”

He smiled up at her. “Your penance will indeed be long and onerous. Your action was outside the bounds of all propriety and good manners. What amends can you make for such an insult?”

“None, none. Oh, James. I have never—”

“Never farted before?” He roared with laughter and bounced her on his cock. “Add a bald-faced lie to your sins, madam!”

“No, James, please, stop laughing at me. This is no laughing matter. I am utterly undone. I have never done something so disgusting. You must think me uncouth and whorish—”

“I’ve never had a whore fart at me, either, madam!”

She tugged her hands free and struggled to rise. “James!”

He pulled her down and rolled her beneath him, sinking into her with a growl once he had her legs wrapped around his hips. He slid up onto his forearms, holding himself above her, so he could look down into her lovely face. She was flushed, not just from their lovemaking, and real tears stained her eyes.

“Hush, my linnet,” he said, gentling his bawdy humour. “I think you charming.”

“James, truly—”

“Truly, I think you charming. And I no more hold you responsible for your wind than I hold you responsible for your monthly flow. Neither can be controlled, apparently.”

“I have no monthly flow, James. I’ve told you I am barren; that is how I know. And I can control myself, and I am most profoundly humiliated—”

He dipped his head and kissed her, a gentle brush that deepened as his thrusts deepened. Once he had her sighing with pleasure, her body tightening around his in the way that suggested she’d forgotten her mortification and was on a speedy ascent to bliss, he said against her lips, “Forget all humiliation, my sweet. Forget all propriety. Forget all but giving me everything I ask for, which is everything you are, without reserve.”

“But surely not that,” she whispered, seeking his mouth between each word in desperate reassurance.

“Even that. I claim every part of you. Everything you are, is mine.” He slid his hand under her buttocks and lifted her into his thrusts so there would be no doubt as to his possession.

Afterwards, she settled against his unwounded side, and fell back to sleep with her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest, her thigh spanning his. Finding her hand, he laced their fingers together. He listened to her breathing deepen, and closed his eyes to savour the peace of sleeping sated and warm in her bed, when he heard a tiny popping noise, followed by a rasp which must have lasted a full five seconds. The stink of sulphur briefly overrode the fragrance of lavender that rose from her sheets.

 _Definitely the devilled eggs_ , he thought, as the bed shook with his silent laughter.

*

When he woke again, the light through the mullioned windows was full and golden, and the bed was empty. He didn’t have to look far to find his mistress. She was standing a few feet away at her washing table. Her dressing gown was around her shoulders, but open at the front and through it, she was washing her stomach and between her legs with a wet cloth. James could smell her fine, French soap.

He stretched luxuriously, and watched her, enjoying her unconscious grace, the rosy flush of cheeks, lips and nipples, the shimmer of the light on her hair. She’d brushed it, but not bound it up, and it waved and curled over her shoulders, down to the middle of her back. Like Helga’s, except that Caroline’s tresses were her own.

“Do you never wear curling papers, madam?” he asked.

Caroline started and turned to face the bed. “Good morning. I didn’t realise you were awake.” She plucked at her dressing gown, as though to pull it closed, but then remembered she was still covered in soap. “Can I get you anything?”

James smiled to himself, remembering what her last invitation had led to. “I’ve only just awoken; do not concern yourself.”

“Let me call Maria and have her lay out breakfast.” She hastily wiped suds off her glistening skin, laid the cloth in the basin and walked over to the wall with the bell pulls, closing her robe as she moved. “In answer to your question, no, I don’t wear curling papers. My hair waves no matter what I do to it, and I have no liking for little curls bouncing around my ears. ‘Tis a silly fashion.”

James heartily agreed. He rolled over so he could follow her progress across the room. “You have sweet ears. No reason not to show them, and curls would just get in my way when I want to kiss them.”

Caroline glanced back over her shoulder and gave him a wry smile. “Is my style now dictated by your desire?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you dress to please me?”

She tipped her head to the side as she considered. “In the house, yes. I will wear as little as you require. But I wonder at the potential scandal if I let you dictate what I wear out of doors.”

“You misapprehend, madam. I would have you covered head to toe and veiled like the ladies of Arabia. No other man should look at what’s mine.”

Caroline shook her head at him. “Such possessiveness, Mr. Delaney.”

“You have no idea, Mrs. Grant. No idea.” James stretched and rolled out of bed. Caroline’s eyes widened as she took in his nakedness, particularly his exposed, distended organ.

James chuckled. “Does Cock Robin make sense now?”

“Yes. James, do you—?”

He grinned at her and shook his head. “I am well satisfied from this morning. As well as somewhat wary of the state of your bowels—”

Caroline’s huff made his grin all the wider. “James! You are beastly to remind me of that.”

“You have named me a lion, madam. You must allow me my beastly traits. But if you give me leave to use your chamber pot, I will address my current . . . consternation.”

“Of course. It’s under the wash basin.” She nodded at the curtained cabinet. “There’s also a commode in the room to the right of the stairs, if you’d prefer. Richard had it installed. I’ll admit I can’t get used to it, myself.”

“Another time, I’ll explore that novelty.” James moved to the washstand, fished the chamber pot out from the modestly curtained alcove beneath the basin, emptied his bladder, covered and replaced the pot and washed his hands. Then he washed his face and neck and under his arms. He was aware that, during his ablutions, Caroline had come to perch on the edge of the bed. She watched him in apparent fascination.

“Madam?” he asked when he finished washing.

She slid off the bed and knelt at his feet. “May I?” She held out her hand for the washcloth.

He rinsed it, rubbed it over the cake of Marseille soap and handed it to her. Then he widened his stance and braced himself against the washstand in case she addressed him incautiously.

She laved him as delicately with the washcloth as she had with her mouth. James reached out and stroked her soft head. “Another time,” he said huskily. “We will start with washing and move on to other things.”

She smiled. “What other things? I am ignorant of such matters, sir.”

“I will undertake your education. Both your knees and your little purse will be elevated by the end of my tutelage.”

Her smile curved. “I will look forward to my first lesson.” She wiped the tops of his thighs carefully, blotted his sac and handed the washcloth back to him. “If you would rinse that, I will wash your feet.”

“My feet?”

“I always wash top to bottom. Do you not want me to wash your feet?”

“My bottom is elsewhere,” James told her.

She tilted her head to glance at the part in question. “Would you like me to wash you there, too?”

Her willingness snatched James’s breath away. When he could speak again, he said, “No, madam.” He rinsed the washcloth, re-lathered it and handed it back to her. “My feet will be more than sufficient.”

She washed one foot, then the other, while James tried to think of another woman who had cared enough for him to wash his arse, or even his balls and feet. His memory began and ended with his mother. His father’s second wife had avoided such duties; even the few times James had been sick as a boy, he was tended by Brace or another manservant. Never his stepmother. James could not think of any other woman who had offered, no matter how much they professed to love him.

When she finished, James held out his hand for the washcloth, and then his other hand to help her to her feet. He tucked a sheaf of her shining hair behind her ear and ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Did you often wash your husband?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t let me. Richard was embarrassed by the toll the years had taken on his body. He was always tended by servants, and never let me see him unclothed.”

“Never?”

“No.” She gave him a tremulous smile and traced his sternum with her forefinger. “Seeing you, how beautiful you are, I begin to understand. He was a young man once. He must have looked something like you, although I think you uncommonly beautiful, and of course he was never as golden. Still, he would have had his share of masculine beauty, before the ravages of time, rich food and spirits.”

“Knowing he was neither young nor beautiful, you still offered?”

“Of course. He was my husband; I wanted to care for him. It didn’t matter what he looked like.”

James drew her into his arms and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Thank you for extending that kindness to me. I have never been so well cared for, not anywhere on this wide earth.”

She smiled up at him and rubbed her thumb through his beard. “Then may I offer to shave you before we breakfast? I haven’t shaved a man since Papa, but I think I remember how.”

“Since you have already endured my night’s whiskers this morning, I will postpone shaving until this evening, before we go to Vauxhall. I will present a smooth cheek to the _ton_.”

Caroline grinned at his double _entendre_. “Then are you ready to break your fast? I hear Maria in the sitting room. She’ll tap on the door in a moment.”

“Yes. Will it compromise her innocence if I appear in only my linen?”

“No, I believe both Maria and I will enjoy that a great deal. You have very handsome legs, sir.”

“I will thank you to keep your mind on your eggs and toast, madam, and off my body parts. What sort of wanton example do you set for your staff?”

She batted his shoulder. “You induce me to wantonness.”

“Mmm. I will certainly do so later. Go and have a cup of tea while I put on some clothes, so my nakedness doesn’t distract you from your food. We have a full day ahead; I wouldn’t want you to faint from hunger before luncheon.”

Shaking her head, Caroline went up on her toes and kissed his cheek before she swept through the adjoining door into her sitting room. The rich smells of coffee and eggs wafted through as she closed the door behind her.

James threw on his shirt before he followed her. If she truly couldn’t pay attention to breakfast rather than his legs, he knew just how to discipline her lack of focus.

*

“I’m a little concerned Mrs. Singh didn’t sleep last night,” Caroline observed as James sat down across the table from her.

James looked over the assortment of dishes between them. “She has outdone herself.”

He nodded at a plate of steak with fried eggs, a tureen of porridge, which held enough for a dozen instead of just two, and a bowl of fried kidneys, onions and mushrooms. Caroline served him generous portions and still the serving plates looked almost untouched.

“Perhaps she was concerned that you ate neither luncheon nor dinner yesterday and seeks to make up for it this morning?” Caroline suggested.

James chuckled. “Please reassure Mrs. Singh that I’m not in imminent danger of starvation, and she needn’t feed me a week’s worth of food in one sitting.”

Caroline smiled as she helped herself to porridge and coffee. “I will. But my dearest James, is this truly a week’s worth of food for you?”

He shrugged, unwilling to discuss when, how little, and what, he’d eaten before returning to England. “Wasn’t I promised poetry with my breakfast?”

“You were.” She rose gracefully, plucked a small volume from a bookcase near the fire and settled back in her chair, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankle. She opened the book and took a sip of coffee. “May I read you _The Lamb_ first, as contrast?”

“Please do.”

She read him the syrupy verse while James ate his steak and egg. The steak was flavoured with a spice James didn’t recognise, but liked very much, both peppery and sweet, and the egg’s runny yolk added richness. “This is excellent,” James said when she finished the poem. He held up a bite of steak on his fork. “Much better than Mr. Blake’s poem, which would rot out all my teeth if consumed.”

Caroline shook her head at him. “How can you appreciate the savoury if you have not known the sweet? Listen to this.”

She flipped to a page marked with a ribbon and read to him. By the second stanza, James was wholly focused on the poem. He put down his silverware and listened. When she finished, he raised his hand. “Read it again, madam.”

Smiling, she did. James closed his eyes this time to memorise each word. When she finished, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I have never seen a tiger, until now.”

“I thought you would like it.”

“I do. I hear the clank of the chain and the crash of the hammer, and can see so clearly the fire-bright creature emerging from its creation-forge. Beautiful, madam.”

Caroline nodded happily while she ate her porridge.

“I share Mr. Blake’s wonder that a lamb and a tiger could have the same maker. Or a lamb and a lion. Or that great predator of the waves: a shark. In the waters off Africa, I have seen sharks the size of five men, their mouths so wide they could eat a man in one bite. How did those great creatures come from the same forge as a lamb or a chicken? It defies comprehension.”

“Perhaps that’s why such wonders are best expressed by poets. They seek to express the inexpressible.”

James raised his coffee-cup to her. “Well said, madam.”

“May I read you another? It is from which I formulated my views on lions, although I appreciate they may be fanciful.”

James nodded, and enjoyed the rest of the steak and set in on the kidneys while she read a pair of poems about the maiden Lyca and a watchful lion. When she read a couplet about the lion licking the maiden’s breast and neck, James had to chuckle.

“I begin to see the basis of your fancy,” he said.

“Well, it is suggestive, isn’t it?”

“Since poor Lyca is a maid, I don’t think that was the intention.”

Caroline pouted. “Then Mr. Blake shouldn’t have mentioned the licking.”

“That is what lions do, madam.” James held up his hands. “But licking is sensuous, I’ll grant you.”

“You think me very wicked.” Caroline stared down at the book in her hands.

“I think you delightful. You’ve brought me much pleasure this morning. In a variety of ways.”

She glanced up at him. “Truly? I’m still very embarrassed about what happened earlier, James.”

“Your gastric mishap? Do not concern yourself. It’s forgotten.”

“I don’t believe it forgotten.” She sighed. “In fact, I think I will hear about it for some time to come.”

“Perhaps,” James allowed. “Teasing you gives me a large measure of delight as well, so you must allow me my due. If it causes you such embarrassment, I promise not to mention it again this morning.”

“Well, that gives me a few hours of relief at least.”

James held his hand out to her across the laden table. She slid her fingers into his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “If my teasing causes you true distress, I will stop. But let me explain some of the pleasures you have given me this morning and perhaps you’ll see it in a different light. Let me start with the sight that greeted me when I opened my eyes for the second time. You were washing, do you recall?” When she nodded, he continued. “I know you feel the filth of this city as keenly as I do. Your cleanliness delights me. You were standing there, washing your lovely body, cleaning off the fluids of our sunrise tryst so you would be fresh for me the next time I wish to enjoy you. The sunlight was sparkling on your hair. Your cheeks were rosy. I cannot think when I have seen a lovelier sight.”

Caroline blushed becomingly.

“Then you greeted me and saw to my needs. Do you know how that makes me feel? In this city of my birth, where I should feel most at home, I’ve been least cared for. I’ve been hungry, cold, exhausted, disgusted. But you make meeting my every need your foremost concern. You satisfy me over and over. If I tease you, a very, very little, it is only to deflect what you term an excess of emotion.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “I know that can be uncomfortable.”

“You never make me uncomfortable, linnet,” James said truthfully. “You have made me supremely comfortable. You have given me all the comforts of a home, a true home. And you have given me that thing that maybe I have missed the most. You’ve given me laughter. Maybe, maybe, that laughter has, very occasionally, been at your expense. But it is lightness and laughter nonetheless. I cannot remember when I last laughed as I did this morning. It’s been years. Don’t begrudge me that, Caroline.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Of course I don’t. And I’m glad that you’ve rediscovered laughter, sir. Your laughter suits you very well. It’s a lovely sound. Even if it is at my expense.”

“I promise, I almost always laugh with you, my sweet.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Shall I tell you another story? Purely for your amusement while you finish your breakfast?”

James nodded.

Caroline released his hand so he could finish eating and poured them each another cup of coffee while she spoke, “I’ve told you I dressed as a lad when I travelled with my husband.”

“You did. I still find it hard to believe that anyone with eyes took you for a boy, but I will reserve judgment until I’ve seen you in coat and breeches tonight. You do remember that your cabin boy has an appointment with the captain this evening.”

Caroline rolled her eyes over the edge of her china cup. “I recall both your doubt and our appointment. I will show you and make you eat your words, and when I do, I expect a reward, Captain Cynic.”

James raised his eyebrow at her. “You’re far more likely to receive a punishment for your cheek than a reward, but carry on.”

“An apology as well as a reward, then. In any event, after several voyages together, Richard became quite used to my boy-dress. Over-familiar, you might say. He forgot to conceal his natural affections for his wife when I was disguised. And then there were the occasional noises from our cabin, even though we tried to be very discrete. The sea air had a salubrious effect on Richard. And the fact that we slept in the same bed, which a grand-uncle and nephew might do, of course, but still. After perhaps a half-dozen trips, a rumour began to spread that Richard had taken a young man as a companion, whose, ah, shall we say, _particular attentions_ he enjoyed.”

James, seeing where this was going, chuckled.

Caroline grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially, “That is not the best of it. One night while I was playing cards at the Cowpers’, a Dowager Duchess offered me her deepest sympathies over my husband’s pederasty and admitted that her own departed Duke had taken such a young companion after their marriage. She told me it had quite relieved her of her wifely duties. A vast relief, she suggested, since her husband’s attentions had tended towards the, um, unnatural, shall we say? She further suggested that I console myself by taking a lover, discretely of course, and see the loss of my husband’s attentions as a gain rather than a slight!”

James’s chuckle became a fully belly laugh, and he put a hand to his stomach, where the healing wound was pulling. “Enough, madam. I will rip your doctor’s stitches.”

Caroline sat back with a huge smile, not at all abashed. “I should take a look at those before you dress. He is a butcher with a needle, that man. I’m sure I would have done it much more neatly.”

“I have no intention of ever letting you stitch me up.”

“Why not?” Caroline asked. “I’m quite handy with a needle.”

“It’s a gruesome business.”

“You say that as though I’ve never done it before. I stitched up all my brothers, and my father, after my mother’s sight failed. Once when Benjy’s horse threw him, he broke his arm and I had to push the bone back through the skin and set it before I doctored him. Father fainted dead away and even Daniel looked quite green. And once my fine hand became known aboard ship, Captain Carver regularly sent his sailors to me to remove splinters and stitch cuts.”

“Who is Captain Carver?”

“The captain of Richard’s ship. Well, one of his ships. But we usually sailed with Captain Carver. That is a matter, actually. Captain Carver only knows me as Lingie. He’s never met me as a woman.”

“Surely he knows. Your womanly bottom could not have gone unmarked, madam.”

“If he does, he has kept it in strictest confidence. Richard said no one ever inquired of him.”

“I find that hard to credit, but it is by the by. I have a ship now and you may sail with me to Paris, so there is no reason to expose yourself to Captain Carver.”

“Oh, but I thought we would be a merry armada. There is a cargo of finished cloth bound for Calais from Miss Edwards and her girls that I delayed because I was sailing so soon. I would do them a disservice if I did not deliver it now.”

James shrugged. “Then we will be an armada, madam. I would still like it if you sailed on my ship.” He had no intention of depriving himself of her company during the trip to Paris, no matter what happened thereafter.

“Of course.” She smiled. “Do you have a bonny crew assembled?”

“I have as bonny a crew of scallywags, vagabonds and villains as ever sailed from Wapping Wall.” James rubbed his forehead as he thought through the implications of having her on board with Atticus’s men. “In fact, I would sail with you on your ship if I had any confidence that they wouldn’t disappear over the horizon with my ship without me on board. You will not leave my side while we sail, and under no circumstances will you flaunt your round bottom in a man’s breeches. Any of them would kill me for a chance at you if they realised what you were hiding.”

“James! Surely you overstate the case.”

“I don’t.” James rubbed at his forehead again.

“If they are such creatures, then why do you sail with them?”

“Dark men for dark deeds. We smuggle gunpowder to the enemy, if you recall. That is an act of treason. Honest sailors do not like to risk their necks.”

“Oh, that’s true. I’ve never sailed with anything but merchantly cargo.” She smiled brightly. “This will be quite exciting.”

James groaned.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever James’s reservations about exposing Caroline to Atticus’s ruffians, he lost them when he saw her standing on the fo’ecastle deck. Their walk from the newly built Tobacco Dock, where they’d left Caroline’s phaeton, had filled her cheeks with a healthy glow. The swirling breeze off the water blew wisps of hair around her cheeks. Without the threat of a muddy track, she’d worn a fine muslin walking dress embroidered with bands of autumnal red and gold, and a brown velvet pelisse with a matching bonnet. She wore no jewellery other than his pearls and her gold ring, but James thought she shone brighter than if she’d been draped in diamonds.

He joined her at the rail, took her gloved hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You became mistress of this ship the moment you boarded,” he told her.

She gave him a dimpled smile that made James’s blood quicken. Their morning sport, as satisfying as it had been, already felt too long ago.

“She is a very bonny ship, James. Lovely lines and a good amount of sail.” Caroline nodded her bonneted head at the bundles of sailcloth, furled and tied tight against the masts. “Have you put her to the test? I don’t suppose you’ve had time, have you?”

“No, madam. I’ve been much distracted of late.” To emphasize his point, James took a step behind her and pressed her body to the rail with his hips.

“James!” Her eyes widened and she half-turned, which only snugged her soft, round buttock more firmly against the growing source of his distraction. “You can’t walk around like that.”

“True.” James reached down between them, his movement concealed by her body and his greatcoat, and adjusted himself. More comfortably arranged, he stepped back to open a little space between them. “Shall we commission a test of her speed tomorrow?”

The brightness of Caroline’s smile challenged the mid-morning sun. “Could we?”

“Yes, indeed. Her crew would benefit from the exercise.” James glanced over the deckhands, who were busy replacing a section of the rail, likely damaged when the ship was commandeered by the British. There were a half-dozen, less than half the number he’d told Atticus to gather; he assumed the rest were in Hampstead, stirring Cholmondeley’s vats. Enough remained to effect the ship repairs, if slowly. _Enough_ , James thought, _to take the old girl out for a day sail_.

“What is she like below-decks?” Caroline asked. “Can we go see?”

James debated for a moment. He’d removed the manacles, and released the beads into the river. There were no obvious signs of the ship’s former purpose, but he found he didn’t want Caroline seeing something he’d overlooked. Not without warning.

“Yes. But before we do.” He reached his gloved hand under her chin and tipped her face up to his. “I would have you know that this was once a slave ship.”

“Oh.” Her smile dimmed for a moment. Then an emotion James couldn’t easily read passed through her eyes, leaving them soft and concerned. “I’m sorry, James. You couldn’t have known when you bought her. If you scrub her top to bottom, does that clean away her past misdeeds? Or will she always be tainted in your eyes?”

James opened his mouth to say that once tainted by slave pain and slave blood, such a stain could never be washed away. But he stopped himself. _Are you asking about more than this ship, my wounded dove?_ he wondered. _Are you asking because you’ve heard the rumours about my past? Or because you still feel sullied by what that frocked lecher did to you?_

“As a man may be forgiven his sins, this ship may be pardoned her crimes,” he said. “She is innocent of the uses evil men put her to. It is not her fault.”

Caroline’s smile returned to its sunny glory, and James stroked his moustache to hide a sigh of relief. _You were asking about more than the ship, and for once, I gave you the right answer._

“Come.” He offered her his arm. “Let us tour the holds.”

Caroline’s fascination with all aspects of the ship was too deep to be feigned. She had never been on an unloaded ship, and spent much time peering into corners and pacing off the long, open lower deck.

James watched with amusement. “If you look to measure her for new curtains, madam, I will have you know I require the finest watered silk. Wool or muslin will not do for my good girl.”

Caroline looked up from her heel-to-toe measurements. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not measuring her for curtains, sir.”

“No?” James spread his hands. “Then what?”

“I’m calculating her tonnage. Do you know what it is?”

James had to admit he didn’t.

Caroline resumed her pacing and finally said. “I’d say nine hundred ton burthen. A very fine weight for a merchantman. She will carry a good cargo in the heaviest seas without foundering. Did they remove all her guns? Are you going to resupply her?”

“Yes, and yes, my linnet, although the resupply will have to wait until she’s away from these shores. I cannot buy cannon in times of war.”

“Of course not. It’s good we travel in an armada, then. My ship has twenty-four guns. Richard was a great believer in deterrence. James, should we transfer some of my ship’s guns to yours? If we split them, is twelve guns too little to be effective? Forgive me, military matters are not my sphere.”

James considered her offer.

“I’m sorry if it was a foolish suggestion—” Caroline began, rushing to fill his silence.

James held up a gloved hand. “Do not presume from my silence that anything is wrong, sweetheart. I’m merely thinking.”

“Oh. Could you think aloud?”

James chuckled. “As you wish. Twelve guns per ship are too few for an effective broadside, that is true. But, as your husband knew, the usual value of cannon on a merchantman is deterrence. Is it better for an attacker to see two ships, each with few guns, or an unarmed pigeon and a protective hawk?” James stroked his chin. “I do not have a ready answer to that question. I will have to think on it.”

“Thank you.” Caroline beamed at him. “Richard always thought aloud when I was with him. I learned much from listening to him think.”

“I will think aloud for you whenever we will not be overheard,” James offered. “You were right about something, madam.”

“Only one thing?” Caroline asked, with a smile.

James struggled to keep his face straight and not grin back at her as he confirmed, “Just the one. You said your husband would have liked me. While I cannot believe he would have approved of me being your lover, the more I hear of him, the fonder I become of his methods. I think we could have been friends.”

“Then you are right in only one thing yourself, sir. When Richard became, um, incapable of performing his husbandly duties in the last months of his life, he released me from my marital vows and urged me to take a lover—“

“Which you did not do,” James observed.

“Of course not. Richard was a kind and generous husband who only wanted my happiness. What kind of wife would I have been if I abused that generosity? Whatever he said, it would have hurt him to have another man take his prerogative with me, no matter how discretely I managed it. Nor would I have been able to focus on caring for Richard and anticipating his needs if my attentions had been divided between him and another man. No, it was out of the question while he was alive. But my point is that Richard wanted me to be happy, and as you make me happy, he would have approved of you wholeheartedly.”

“Do I?” James asked. “Make you happy?”

She crossed to where he was leaning against a beam and slid her arms around his neck. “Very.”

“Even last night? I’m still under the impression that I dealt you an injury, madam.”

“I promise, you only lanced a boil. There was no fresh wound.”

“I thought ladies did not get boils,” James jibed.

“A blemish then? Ladies do perhaps get very small blemishes, from time to time.”

“Ah, no. A blemish does not so ruin a lady’s whole appearance that she feels obliged to hide her loveliness from her admiring lover. Nor could a mere blemish contain sixteen years of remembered hurt. A pimple? A purulent pustule?”

Caroline shook her head with a smile. “Ladies do not get pimples and they certainly do not get pustules.”

“Ladies are very fortunate.”

“Indeed.” Caroline leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “And I am the most fortunate of ladies. Now, sir, can I tempt you with luncheon? I appreciate you are not in the habit of eating regularly, and that we breakfasted hugely, so you may not be hungry yet. But I harbour hope that if I offer you food routinely enough, you may fall back into some dietary normalcy. My little watch tells me it is almost two. If memory serves, there is a good oyster house not far from here. Do you favour oysters?”

James lifted an eyebrow at her. Surely she did not mean Helga’s oyster house, which was nearby. “I do, but if the oyster house is run by ladies of ill-repute, then I cannot approve of you eating there. What would your good friend Countess Cowper say?”

“She would be suitably shocked, but my recollection is that the oyster house is run by a portly Dutchman and his even portlier wife, not ladies of the night, so I promise your virtue is safe.”

“I have no virtue,” James said, slipping his hands under her pelisse so he could feel the warmth of her through the muslin of her dress. He drew her close and brushed his mouth across hers. “And no delicacy.” A deeper kiss. “And absolutely no sense of propriety.” A much deeper kiss that involved tongues and James’s hand sliding up to cup one of her small breasts and kneed it through her gown until her nipple was stiff as a peg against his fingers.

“James!” she breathed when he drew back. Her cheeks were flushed, but he thought it was with excitement, not embarrassment. “Surely we cannot, here. Your crewmen are right overhead. What if one of them comes down?”

“It would be a scandal greater than Lady Caroline’s dagger scene, my linnet. Would you risk it for me?”

A tiny smile started at the corners of her mouth and her eyes half-closed. “Yes, if you asked it of me.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Then I will, but not today. Today is a day of delights only, and the prospect of finding a comfortable couch in here.” He looked around at the empty hold with its rough-hewn beams and boards for emphasis. “Is slight, while the prospect of discovery might make our shared enjoyment too brief. So we will wait until we are private, but I warn you, madam, oysters have an infamous effect on me, and I am not referring to the digestive complaints from which you occasionally suffer.”

She drew out of his arms and smacked him on the shoulder. “James, oooh! You are infamous to remind me of that. You said you wouldn’t!”

“As you’ve just told me, it is after noon, so I have made good on my promise,” James rejoined. “And it is your wind that is infamous.”

Caroline drew herself up and began to stomp away.

“Just a moment, madam. Let me go first. Following behind you is a dangerous activity. I fear your aft cannon.”

“James!”

He propped himself against the beam and laughed until his belly ached so badly he had to clutch at it.

His movement brought Caroline back to his side. She put her hand over his anxiously. “James, please stop laughing. His stitches are abominable. I’ve half a mind to unpick them and re-stitch it. You will tear them if you keep jerking about like that.”

“You jerk me about in bed like an unbroken stallion and yet you have no concern then,” James said, still chuckling. “Could it be that my John Thomas’s girth and energy distract you?”

“Would you behave? I had no idea what a hash he’d made of the stitching until I redressed your wound this morning. Honestly, James, maybe we should retire to my house where I have needle and thread.”

“No, madam. You promised me oysters and I promise you a very long bounce on my cock while their effects last, and I will not tolerate you giving me pain when you’ve offered me pleasure. Pay up. I demand my oysters.”

“Oh, very well, we’ll get your oysters. Do you want to lean on me while you walk?”

James snorted. “No, madam. You will take my arm as you have done for days, all unknowing what terrible pain it gave me to walk unsupported. Now that you are cognisant to my discomfort, you will shower me with your sympathies as I manfully ignore my pain to offer you the courtesy you are due as my mistress and a lady.”

“Manfully?” Caroline lifted an eyebrow.

“Most manfully. Heroically, even.”

“You are mad, sir.”

“You’re not the first to observe it, madam.” He offered her his arm and when she took it, walked her toward the stair to the upper decks. She half-turned, tugging on his arm, as something caught her eye.

“Oh, you’ve marked the ship with your symbol,” she said. “We should get a pair of flags drawn up with your bird crest so each ship in our armada can fly one across the Channel, don’t you think?”

James followed her line of sight to the carving he’d left on the floor. “What makes you think that’s my crest?” he asked.

“You have it on your back. Isn’t it your crest?”

“No. The _Asante_ burned it into me after they raided Adjoa Kufuor’s village and took me captive. I’d never seen it before. Since returning to London, I found that my mother had carved it into the hearth in her bedroom, while she was confined there. I know what the symbol means, but not why I bear it, or how the tribesmen of west Africa and savages on the other side of the globe both know it.”

“What is the symbol?” Caroline asked and James could hear the curiosity in her voice.

“It’s a _sankofa_. A bird reaching back to pluck an egg off its back. And it is very much the activity we engaged in yesterday at Kew Gardens. Although with less mud.”

Caroline’s reply was suspended while they climbed the stairs to the top deck. When they reached the top of the stairs, they paused for breath and Caroline asked, “It’s a reflection?”

“Yes. Considering the past in order to build a successful future.”

“I see. And you’ve no idea why your captors branded you with that symbol?”

James shook his head. “Nor any idea how my mother knew it, or why she left it for me to find.”

“How can you be sure she left it for you to find? You’ve said she was mad.”

James offered her his arm again and when she took it, strolled across the desk towards the gangplank. “I know she left it for me because she guided me to it.”

“Did she leave you a letter?” Caroline asked, tilting her face up to his.

“I had a vision,” James said slowly. Until that moment, he hadn’t planned on telling her about the visions. But when he said the words aloud, they had no sting, and her face held no censure. He was immediately glad he’d told her.

“A vision? Of her? Do you have them often?”

James nodded, and again, saw no disbelief or censure in her expression. “More often than I would like.”

“They are doubtless uncomfortable things,” Caroline said, her tone considering. “The poets have them, or so I’m told. So perhaps you are more of a poet than you know.” She smiled up at him. “Your compliments to me are certainly very poetic.”

“They are no more or less than the truth, madam. And I would not want to be a poet. They’re all mad, or so _I’m_ told. I know fewer poets than pirates.”

“Well, I could doubtless arrange an introduction for you. Lord Byron is a favourite of the Lamb family, and if he is unavailable, Mr. Shelley is perpetually lurking about, shilling for his cause.”

“Since I am now a great devotee of their rival Mr. Blake, and since I understand they are both penniless, I cannot see the profit in an introduction to either of them. One moment, madam.” James left her side to have a word with the man supervising the repair of the rail, who James remembered as French Bill. When he returned, Caroline was watching the scrubbing of the ship’s dingy with interest. “What do you see, my dear?”

“She has been in warm waters,” Caroline observed. “Look at the size of those barnacle rings.”

James nodded. “I checked her log. She was running slaves to Trinidad.”

“You did say she was a slave ship.” Caroline took his arm. “But look, he’s scrubbing the rings away and all will be as new.”

“She is a good and faithful ship. She is not to blame for the use she was put to. I’ll rename her before we sail, to reflect her new commission.”

She gave him one of her sunny smiles. “What will you name her?”

“ _Delaney’s Delight_ ,” James said, keeping his face deadpan.

Caroline laughed. “Surely not.”

“The _Sweet Caroline_?”

“I beg you, no. My reputation would never recover.”

“Then the _Gyata_.”

“That’s lovely. What does it mean?”

“It’s an African word for lion.”

“Oh, I think that’s very fitting. And surely no other schooner will carry that name.”

“No, I don’t think there’s much likelihood of that. Which way to these promised oysters, madam?”

She pointed the way and James was relieved when she pointed in a different direction than Helga’s.

*

James was less relieved when Atticus strolled in to the oyster-house.

Atticus swept the room with his blue gaze, pinioned James on it and strode across the rough-hewn floorboards to plonk himself down across the planked table. The trencher from which James and Caroline were sharing oysters rattled.

“James, me boy,” he said.

“Atticus, what do you want?”

“Heard you’d made a visit to the docks this morning with a very lovely lady.” Atticus nodded at Caroline before taking out a knife and helping himself to an oyster. “I came to see what’s what.”

“Mrs. Grant’s reputation would not survive being introduced to you, Atticus, and I came to check on the progress of refitting my ship.”

“My lads know what they’re about, and I’ve been introduced to the Queen of the Netherlands, me.”

Caroline made a low, snorting noise, as though she’d swallowed a giggle, or choked on an oyster, and James realised that she knew that name for prostitute. She held her hand out to Atticus. “Mrs. Caroline Grant,” she said.

Atticus bowed over her hand, but didn’t touch it, probably because his hands were covered in oyster water. “Atticus, ma’am. I sailed with Captain Delaney, James’s father.”

“And now you sail with the son?” she asked.

“Well, he ha’nt asked me, but I reckon before this business is done, I might be _persona non grata_ in these parts, if you know what I mean, so I’ll save meself a place aboard.”

“A wise man,” Caroline said, giving Atticus a dimpled smile.

James grunted. “This is the worst of the scallywags, vagabonds and villains that I have assembled, madam. Save your smiles.”

“I cannot believe that. Look, he wears his moral compass for all to see.” She nodded at Atticus’s tattooed pate.

“Only a truly lost soul tattoos a compass on their head,” James growled.

“I see. You’re old friends, then.” Caroline leaned over and kissed his cheek, then gathered her skirts gracefully and rose. “I will leave you gentlemen to your business while I find the necessary.”

James was a shade faster to his feet than Atticus, but they both rose when she left the table. James watched as she took direction from a serving girl and passed through a half-boarded door to the back.

Atticus met James’s eye as he sat back down. “How the hell did you catch that—”

“Not one word about Mrs. Grant. She will be sailing with us to Calais, and you and your men will observe my strictures as long as she is aboard. I mean it, Atticus. No one even looks at her. She’s a good and gentle woman.”

“You wound me, me boy. I’ve known many good women and none of ‘em’s been the worse for my acquaintance. A few of ‘em’s even _increased_ from the knowledge—“

Knowing what sort of increase Atticus was referring to, James held up a finger. “That’s exactly what I mean. Keep such thoughts behind your teeth, Atticus, or I will remove them. One by one. What news from the farm?”

Caroline returned as Atticus was finishing his report of the chlorate-stirring and Cholmondeley’s grudging confirmation that the powder would be ready to meet the Americans’ deadline. She acknowledged both men when they stood, then sank onto the bench with a smile and picked up oyster and knife. “I’ve ordered some ale for you gentlemen,” she said.

James groaned. “Now we’ll never be rid of him.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Atticus tugged an imaginary forelock. “Young James ‘ere ain’t hard to look at, but he lacks the graces men develop with age an’ experience. If you ever tire of his lack of gratitude, I know where you can find—”

“Atticus!” James warned.

“Right.” Atticus tipped another oyster down his throat, swigged down the mug of ale the serving girl handed him before it even hit the table, and stood. “I’ll leave you to your luncheon. Ma’am.” He leaned forward and held out his hand.

Caroline offered hers and Atticus bent over it. James wouldn’t have caught the movement if he hadn’t been looking for it, then he was on his feet, rounding behind Atticus before the old sailor reached the door.

James held out his hand, just as he heard Caroline say with a note of alarm, “James!”

“I have it in hand, madam,” he growled. “The pearls, Atticus.”

The old sailor grinned, exposing his dead eyetooth. “Can’t fault a man for trying,” he said.

“If you’ve cut them—”

“Now, now, I only tickled the clasp. ‘Ere they are.” Atticus produced the strand from up his grimy sleeve and lowered them into James’s waiting palm.

“From now on, you may consider that everything from the feather in Mrs. Grant’s bonnet to the stitching on her slippers belongs to me. If you take anything from her, you steal from me, and I will seek compensation, in blood.”

Atticus tilted his head, then put a heavy hand on James’s shoulder. “A word in your shell-like.”

James grunted. “Outside.” He leaned around Atticus’s broad frame to meet Caroline’s eye. “I will return in a moment, madam. With your pearls.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Tell him I noticed before he made the door.”

Atticus shrugged and wiggled his fingers. “Rusty hinges.”

James held open the door and followed Atticus onto the boarded wharf on which the oyster-house stood. “What do you want, Atticus? I’m busy.”

Atticus leaned so close James could smell the hops on the man’s breath. “I see that. I’d never begrudge a man a bit of slap and tickle, James, particularly when it comes that nicely wrapped, but d’you think she’s a good idea? She’s too fine a lady to involve in this business.”

“She’s aware of my business, and willing to assist.”

“She aware that assistin’ could get her a stretched neck?”

 _She risks that daily_ , James thought. “She is.”

“Look, me boy, plenty of ladies’re happy to stoop for a bit of rough. But if the King’s men come knocking, she will give you up without a second thought—”

“She has more to lose than you or I do, Atticus. She risks her fortune and position as well as her life. In fifteen days we sail, and until then I will keep her safe.” James held up his fistful of pearls. “Even from you. Anything else?”

Atticus worked his mouth for a moment as though he’d say something, then shook his head.

“Then I will meet you at the farm at midnight four days from now.”

“How will you bring the powder into the city?”

“I have four days to think on that—”

“Just don’t let that woman distract you.”

“She’s more likely to come up with a plan than I am. Enough, Atticus, let me return.”

“I hope you don’t plan to bring her with you to the farm.”

James grunted. “Good day.”

Atticus pulled on his gloves and trundled off down the boardwalk.

Caroline was conversing with the smiling serving girl when he returned. She offered him the tankard of ale as he sat. James took a long swallow and caught himself just before he put his arm around her in public. He spared a moment to wish they were alone while he downed more ale.

Caroline put her hand on his forearm to get his attention. “Sally says they have a hen, freshly roasted. Half is for her master’s dinner, but the other half is going for a ha’penny. Would you like it, James?”

He gave up on propriety – he’d told her he had none anyway – and put his arm around her. She settled against his side, a warm, sweet weight.

“No, madam. I’ve eaten enough. But thank you.”

“Ah, well, I’m sorry, Sarah. Mr. Delaney has had enough. Please keep that.” She nodded at the coins the girl had in her hand. “And give my complements to your master and mistress. The oysters were excellent.”

The girl bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll tell them.”

As the serving girl retreated, James finished his ale and gave Caroline a squeeze. “You overpaid her.”

“Yes, I did,” Caroline agreed. “By a whole tuppence. And that doesn’t begin to make up for the two men who have pawed her while we’ve been sitting here. It’s shameful, what men think they can do to a girl who’s beneath them.”

James opened his mouth to observe that it was the way of the world. Then he remembered what another man thought he could do to a girl who was at his mercy, and changed what he was about to say. “Agreed. Shall we go, madam? I believe I mentioned to you the effect oysters have on me, and it is still quite a drive to anywhere we can be private.”

“Of course.” She pulled on her gloves and took his arm to stand.

“But first let me restore these to you.” James held up the strand of pearls.

Caroline held the ribbons of her bonnet out of the way and James refastened the pearls around her neck. “How did you know he was going to take them? You moved before he had them off my neck.”

“I know the minds of rogues and villains. As you should be aware, since you’ve called me a rogue often enough.”

She smiled up at him and wrapped her arm around his far more familiarly than she usually did. James wondered if the oysters had an effect on her as well.

“Well, sir, you do like to play one. Speaking of which, might we attend the theatre tomorrow? It need not be _Merchant of Venice_ if you don’t want. I appreciate there is some strain between you and Miss Bow.”

“I have very little love of the theatre, madam. But I would be pleased to attend a further reading of Milton. The last one was done in very high style, and I’m eager to hear the next step in Satan’s plan.”

Caroline blushed softly, a modest pinkening of her cheeks rather than the furious flushes of shame she’d once given him. James recognised the difference now. “I would be delighted to read to you any time you wish, James.”

“Then it is an engagement, madam.”

*

James lay in Caroline’s comfortable bed, with her warm weight across his chest and stomach. She was snoring, very, very softly, into his neck, which made James smile as he stared up at the canopy.

Although his eyes were open, his mind was drifting. He slid through recent images: Caroline’s sweet face contorted with the pleasure they’d just shared, Cholmondeley confronting him about the dangers of chlorates, his sister’s arch expression as she’d lifted her skirts to climb into his lap and kiss him before telling him she never wanted to see him again. The emotions these images raised in him – happiness, fear, and the blackest need to possess – spread and thinned like ripples in a pond, until they disappeared.

When his mind was calm, he began tracing symbols onto the smooth skin of Caroline’s shoulder. The snake that began the world. The spiral of days. The sun that sees all by day. The moon that sees all by night. By the time he began drawing the waves crashing on rocks, new images were drifting through his mind. His mother, her long black hair unbound, crow-feathers fluttering around her shoulders, wading into waist-deep water. She held something in her hands. A bundle of something. Feathers, or cloth. She lowered it into the water and held it there. She looked back over her shoulder. James could see the cracked, white paint coating her face. The black circles around her eyes; the thick lines running from nose to chin. She opened her mouth and shrieked.

James felt himself drift again. Down through green bubbles. Down into black depths.

Caroline snuffled and rubbed her cheek against his collar.

“Where is your hand, madam?” he asked softly.

“Here,” she murmured, sliding her palm down his forearm. She laced her fingers through his. “I’m sorry, did I fall asleep?”

“Indeed, you did.”

She lifted her head and looked into his face. Then slid up onto her elbow, her unbound hair falling to curtain them, and looked at him closely. “James, are you well?”

“Yes.”

“You sound odd and you’re very pale. Are you sure you’re well?”

“You use my poor John Thomas again and again, draining me dry, and then ask why I’m pale? Look to your own greed, madam.”

“James, is that true?! Have I made you ill by asking too much of you?” she asked anxiously, her fingertips fluttering across his cheek and throat.

He chuckled before relenting. “No, sweet. How’s your little purse?”

“Lovely,” she said, in a tone that sent heat racing to James’s groin, despite his recent release. “I liked that last very much.” He’d sat her in his lap, with his back against the headboard, and rolled their hips together long and slow until she’d shuddered and shattered in his arms. “James, I don’t want to force a confidence out of you, but please tell me if you’re truly ill.”

“I’m not.”

“Is it your wound?” She lifted herself slightly and looked down between them at his bandaged side. “Have I pained you by lying on it? You could have moved me—”

“I had no wish to move you, and I have not felt it since your ministrations this morning, madam. Do not concern yourself.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “If you truly want to know why I am pale, I’ll tell you. I had a vision of my mother. She went mad, and my father sent her to Bedlam. But before that, when she still walked freely through our house, she sometimes wore a dress of crow feathers. I saw her in the crow dress, walking into the river. She was carrying something, and I thought it was a bird, but now I think I was mistaken. I think she was carrying something else.”

“What, James?”

“A baby. I think she was carrying me.”

“Was she carrying you to the other side?”

“No, madam. She was carrying me into the river. Perhaps to drown me.”

“Oh, James, no.” She wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his neck, tightening her fingers around his and sliding her arm under his shoulders. She pressed against him and made a soft humming sound.

James let her comfort him for long moments, and was surprised to find himself soothed.

“Be easy, madam.” He kissed her forehead. “She was mad. There is no accounting for the deeds of a madwoman.”

“You said it was a vision, not a memory. It’s symbolic only. It didn’t actually happen.”

“I have no recollection of it, but she was sent to Bedlam when I was very little. Much may have happened that I do not remember. And the only one who knows the truth of that time does not like to give answers to my questions.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Who? Your old butler?”

“Brace. Yes.”

“Do you want to ask him now? I will go with you if you wish.”

“No. We have an engagement in Vauxhall Gardens now, if you will recall. Tomorrow is soon enough. And it gives me time to remember more, now that I have found a path to memory.”

“You have?”

“I have, indeed. Meditating on the softness of your skin is a far superior path than old Adjoa’s rituals. He taught me to control the visions, but his methods are painful. Like tearing a scab off a raw wound.”

She scooted up to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry, James. Did you always have visions? Even before Africa?”

“Yes.”

She kissed his other cheek, and then his chin, and when James grew tired of her butterfly kisses and pulled her down, his mouth. “My poor man,” she whispered against his lips. “That must have been frightening when you were young.”

“And not so young,” he admitted. “When I left England, it was a surety that I would run mad, like my mother.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Many say I’m mad now.”

“If this is madness, there is method in it,” Caroline said, rubbing the tip of her nose against his.

“There is, indeed, madam. But there wouldn’t have been if Adjoa hadn’t found me. I was crazed, and full of blackest rage. Sometimes, that rage erupted, spilling over on all around me. My sister could calm me, but no other, and you know the methods she employed, because you employ them yourself.”

Caroline drew back. Untangling her hand, she rolled off him and onto her side. She was still near, facing him, but he felt her remove herself as keenly as if miles of artic tundra had suddenly opened between them. “I wish you wouldn’t compare me to her,” she said.

James frowned. “I compare you only in feminine softness and compassion. What did you think I meant?”

Caroline shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Madam, if we haven’t established what evading my questions gets you, I’m happy to deliver you a sharp lesson.”

“If you spank me, I will scream the house down.”

“Thank you for warning me, I will take care to bar the door first.”

“James! I’m a grown woman, you can’t spank me like a child.”

“I can, and I will, whenever it pleases me, or whenever you displease me by failing to give me answers. Answer the question, my darling, or prepare yourself for a very sore arse.”

She slapped at his chest, but he caught her wrist and pulled her on top of him. With his other hand, he cupped her buttock, playfully but hard. She squirmed, but he wrapped his leg around hers and held her tight.

“I’m growing impatient, madam.”

“Oh! You are impossible, James. Very well, I’ve met her, Mrs. Geary. Her husband courted my ship insurance business, so I invited him to a reception I held for business associates, about a year ago. He didn’t know that the ships were mine; I think I’ve told you I act through a trust. He thought I was hostess only. I had recently severed my connection with Lewis Lodge and Mr. Geary made a point of mentioning it several times, which was most ungentlemanly. He also gave me looks that made my skin crawl. Mrs. Geary was colder than the Atlantic in January. Her elegance had a terrible brittleness to it and every word that came out of her mouth was barbed. I disliked them both thoroughly by the end of the evening. Unfortunately, I was obliged to endure another evening with them a few weeks later when one of the guests at my party returned the invitation. I was drawn into a game of cards with Mrs. Geary. She was worse than cold. She was rude and petulant when she lost. After that, I made a point of not encountering either of them at intimate gatherings, and in fact had not seen them again at close quarters until the night of Countess Musgrove’s quadrille. But I marked the way Mrs. Geary looked at you, and I have heard the report of what Doctor Dumbarton witnessed. None of it improved my opinion, and I do not like being compared to her.”

“Then I will not compare you to her again,” he said, stroking her bottom. “And I will tell you that I find her much changed from the girl I knew.”

Caroline softened against him and put her face in his neck. “I should not say this, and would not to anyone but you, but they both reek of false piety. That is a smell I cannot stomach.”

James knew what it reminded her of. “Piety, false or true, means nothing to me. But for a happily married, Christian woman, she kisses very passionately.”

“Oh, James.” She rubbed her thumb across his lower lip. “Doctor Dumbarton thought you hadn’t yet renewed your affair.”

“We haven’t,” James said flatly.

“But you want to. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Madam, if you cannot hear, and see, and feel, how contented I am with you, then you need a doctor yourself. I will admit that I loved her as a boy, and I will not apologise for those feelings, no matter how abhorrent they may be to you.”

“I make no judgment,” Caroline said softly.

“Then you are singular in that regard as well, madam. Africa did nothing to dim my feelings for her, but her behaviour since my return has done what time and distance did not.”

“She has been cold to you,” Caroline said, half a question and half a conclusion.

“Cold, and hot, and cold. The weather of Cape Horn changes slower than my sister’s moods.”

“I’m sorry, James. I should be charitable and say that she must have been very confused by your return. But I find that I cannot muster much charity when it comes to her, and in any event, whatever her feelings, she should have been clear and consistent with you.”

James grunted. “I do not require you to be charitable. Only candid.”

“Is that why you threaten to beat me when I’m not?” He heard the smile return to her voice.

“If it keeps you honest.”

She pressed kisses to his throat, then rubbed her short fingernails down his cheek and neck, scraping at his stubbled beard. “Since I have been painfully honest, and since you have no excuse to beat me at the moment, I should call Mr. Singh. He intends to draw you a bath and barber you before we go to Vauxhall.”

“I need no excuse to beat you.” James turned the idea of a bath and shave from her Indian manservant over in his head for a moment. Found he had no objection. “But I will save the spanking for after our walk. You may summon your man, and you may excuse yourself. Having you watch me bathe would lead to a situation likely to embarrass your man.”

Caroline lifted her head from his neck and grinned. “A situation likely to embarrass Mr. Singh, or a situation likely to embarrass you?”

“Little embarrasses me, madam.”

Caroline shook her head at him. “That’s true. You are the boldest man I have ever met. And the most exciting.” She kissed him before rolling out of bed to draw on her dressing gown and summon her servant.


	8. Chapter 8

_The Sikh must have been the old man’s valet_ , James thought. _He is too expert with the bath and barbering not to have had a great deal of practice_.

The Sikh held up a small glass for James to inspect his chin; James could not see a stray hair, nor a nick or scratch.

“A fine shave, Mr. Singh,” James said, rubbing his hand over his moustache. He’d let the man apply a little beard oil when the shave was done, and James liked both the balsam fragrance of the oil and the silky feel. He wondered what Caroline would make of it when he rubbed his mouth against her delicate flesh.

“I’m pleased to have been of service, sir. May I fetch your linen?”

“Yes, thank you.”

James watched the Sikh gather a fresh shirt, necktie, trousers and stockings off the clothes-horse. The trousers were James’s own, but the rest of the linen, and the dark blue patterned waistcoat, James did not recognise.

He let the man dress him to the point of his boots, which James took in hand, not wanting to walk across Caroline’s fine carpets in the boots, although they’d been recently cleaned and polished. Then he went to find his mistress.

Caroline was in the adjoining room, which she seemed to use for eating, dressing and sitting, as she pleased. It had the cheval glass in the corner, her writing desk, the comfortable armchairs, several tables, bookcases and a good fire. One door led to her bedroom, another to the hallway, and a third, James suspected, into a closet, although he hadn’t seen either Caroline or her maid use that door. Like her bedroom, it was papered and carpeted, but in cream and green, which kept it from becoming overly feminine. Caroline was dressed and sitting at the writing desk, while her maid did something complex with her hair.

James crossed to the front of the writing desk and held out his hand. When she put her hand in his, he bent over and kissed her knuckles. “I thank you for my new linen, madam.”

She smiled up at him. “Does it suit?”

“Very well. I particularly like the nautical touch.” He indicated the waistcoat, which was embroidered with tiny anchors, blue on blue, so they were only apparent on close inspection and from a distance, merely looked patterned. “I would prefer not to wear anything from a dead man’s closet, however.”

“Oh, no, of course not. I gave all my husband’s clothes to charity after his death. I sent Mr. Singh to Bond Street for the linen and waistcoat.”

“My clothes chest overflows, madam.”

“A man can never have too many shirts,” Caroline said.

“Nor too many waistcoasts.” James turned one of the armchairs so it faced her desk and sat. “Without wishing to rush perfection, how much longer will you be?”

“Maria?” Caroline asked.

“Five minutes, ma’am,” her maid answered. “Should I ring for tea and brandy for Mr. Delaney, ma’am?”

“No, I can do without tea or brandy for five minutes,” James answered. He reached across the desk and held out his hand again, which Caroline took. He laced their fingers together and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “This is what I cannot do without.”

Caroline beamed at him. “Nor I.”

*

Within a few minutes of their arrival, James found himself far preferring Kew Gardens to Vauxhall. There was no tranquillity or solitude to be found amongst Vauxhall’s green paths, and the oddities on display were human rather than botanical.

Most of the walking oddities knew Caroline at least by name, and because she was on the arm of London’s newest curiosity, they approached, seeking an introduction. Some sought more. James and Caroline received several invitations before they’d even completed their first circuit of the gardens. Some of the invitations were of another sort. After the Baron of Somewhere dragged away the third woman who had blatantly flirted with James, he found himself fervently wishing for the tranquillity of Kew.

Caroline, more attuned to his moods than even his sister had been, drew him to a bench in an arbour of coneflower and deep red asters. In the frame of the colourful flowers, she was the brightest jewel: an emerald in her pale green walking dress and deep green, velvet pelisse. She took his hand between her kidskin gloves. “Have you had enough of our walk?”

“Enough of walking with you? Never,” James said with an attempt at gallantry, which Caroline pierced with an upraised eyebrow. “I admit I find the scenery fatiguing.”

“Shall we return to my phaeton and take a drive instead? You wouldn’t have to speak to anyone then.”

James stopped himself before he leaned in and kissed her in gratitude. “Are you thinking of my comfort? Thank you, linnet. I’ll have a pipe, we’ll take another turn, and then we’ll go back to your house. I believe there’s a matter of cabin boys and their instruction which we must attend to.”

Caroline tipped her bonnet and gave him a sly smile from beneath the brim. “Is Mr. Thomas recovered enough to deliver such instruction?”

James shook his head as he took out his pipe, tobacco wallet and striker. “A walking scandal, madam,” he said. “On behalf of Mr. Thomas, I am outraged. That will be an additional five strokes.”

“Five strokes of what?” Caroline’s eyes widened under the brim of her pretty bonnet.

“The naughty cabin boy will have to wait and see.”

Caroline squirmed on the bench, then went rigid. “Oh, James,” she said in a low tone. “I am so sorry.”

“What—?” James broke off when he saw a man-o-war ploughing purposefully across the green towards them. He blinked the vision of a warship out of his head; the figure resolved itself into a matronly woman, nearly buried beneath a pile of yellow lace, ruffles and flounces.

“Not the horrid auntie?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes,” Caroline whispered.

“Prepare yourself, madam. There is about to be a scandal.” James lit his pipe and puffed on it as the woman steamed up to their bench. He heard Caroline take a deep, fortifying breath.

“Mrs. Grant, I do declare!” said the horrid auntie, puffing out her shiny cheeks. “I thought it was you.”

“Mrs. Eddy, what a pleasure it is to see you. May I introduce my walker, Mr. James Delaney?”

The horrid auntie looked James up and down, then offered her pudgy hand.

James blew out a cloud of blue smoke and bent over the woman’s be-ringed ham hock. “How d’you do, Mrs. Eddy?”

“Very well, Mr. Delaney, very well. How is it that you know our dear Caroline?”

“Intimately,” James said, as he put his pipe back between his teeth and drawled between puffs. “And in every respect. For two people who met at a ball. We have become fast friends.”

Mrs. Eddy’s mouth, squeezed into a circle between her full cheeks, worked for a moment as she processed his words. “You-you met at a ball, then?”

“Indeed, you are not hard of hearing, Mrs. Eddy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Caroline lowering her head to hide her smile.

“Not Countess Musgrove’s ball three nights ago? Wasn’t there some mad business about a duel?”

“The very one,” James replied. “Insult was offered, a challenge accepted, two shots fired, and a man killed. The mad business of gentlemen.”

“Certainly not _your_ business, Mr. Delaney?” Mrs. Eddy put her hand to her over-ample bosom.

“Precisely my business, Mrs. Eddy. I fired the killing shot. Then I called on Mrs. Grant for consolation. Satisfaction was had by all.”

“Mr. Delaney! Surely there can be no satisfaction in killing a man!”

“That depends on how gravely he offends me. The deeper the offence, the deeper the satisfaction, I find.”

“Mr. Delaney!”

James tilted his head and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “But surely you agree. You have known the satisfaction of social assassination, have you not? The vindictive pleasure of a well-administered cut? I find it hard to believe that someone who has moved in Society as long as yourself, Mrs. Eddy, hasn’t engaged in some social duelling.”

“Well, I—” Her hand fluttered at her throat and her shiny cheeks grew shinier.

“I would not have thought of it that way,” Caroline interjected, “But Mr. Delaney’s quite right. Weren’t you just saying the other day how you’d triumphed over Mrs. Stillman? Not only did you stop the Parnell boy from fawning on Mrs. Stillman’s niece, but you’d ensured that the Stillmans were excluded from the Spencer’s guest list, which will of course mean they are excluded from the Lamb’s and the Sefton’s guest lists as well. Very much a social assassination. And deftly done.”

“Well, well, well! I’m sure there’s no comparison!” Mrs. Eddy protested.

“No?” James asked. “They seem to me much the same. In both cases the victim was guilty and received the punishment they deserved. Surely Mrs. Stillman deserved the cut you delivered her?”

“Well, yes, of course, she’s the worst sort of opportunist.”

“The man in question was the worst sort of traitor: a man who betrayed his friend for a few sovereigns. Perhaps he deserved greater punishment than Mrs. Stillman, who was only guilty of the same sin as every other sinner in this park.” James gestured with the stem of his pipe at the proudly dressed men and women around them, parading up and down the park’s green walks like so many peacocks.

As Mrs. Eddy drew breath to protest, Caroline said, “Indeed, we are all sad sinners in that regard, Mr. Delaney. But surely justice lies in God’s hands alone.”

“Madam, it’s for your charity and wisdom, particularly in matters of pleasure and punishment, that I most admire you. For social slights, such ephemerals may lie within God’s sphere. But for earthly grievances, I believe men must take matters into their own hands,”

“You are ever a man of girth, energy and action, Mr. Delaney,” Caroline said.

Mrs. Eddy’s eyes darted from Caroline to James and back again. James saw her round mouth silently form the word _girth_. He puffed hard on his pipe to smother a laugh.

“Mrs. Grant, you do me too much credit. But what have you to say of those who take God’s retribution into their own hands? If they are unsullied by the sin they judge, perhaps they may be tolerated, but if they share that sin, are they not the more contemptible? What shall we call such reprobates?”

Caroline reached out and took his free hand. “We call them human, and fallible, and pitiable. But perhaps not worthy of mockery, Mr. Delaney.”

James puffed on his pipe. “As you say, madam. I defer to your charity and wisdom in such matters.”

“I declare!” said Mrs. Eddy. “I do not know when I have heard such a thing, discussing such weighty matters in a pleasure garden—”

“Indeed, Mrs. Eddy. Let us limit our discussion to the weather,” James said. “I believe it is about to rain, so you will forgive me if I return Mrs. Grant to her carriage before her lovely gown is water-stained.”

Mrs. Eddy looked up into the cloudless, late afternoon sky. “Er—”

“God’s fiery judgment, Mrs. Eddy,” James said, tapping his pipe out. “God’s fiery judgment.” He rose and offered Caroline his arm. “Madam, let us preserve your silks.”

Caroline rose gracefully and took his arm. “Mrs. Eddy, it was such a pleasure.”

“Yes, my dear. Yes, indeed. I look forward to our next tea.”

“As do I.” Caroline gave her a little curtsey before James led her away.

James cast a grim and unforgiving glance over his shoulder once they were at a safe distance. “Old hypocrite.”

Caroline squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, James. I did say she was awful.”

“You did, although I think you underrepresented her awfulness. What’s more, she wasn’t even complementary about your attire this afternoon. Which is charming, madam, if I’ve failed to adequately admire it.”

“Thank you,” she said, with another squeeze. “I’m sorry I stopped you from upbraiding her, but she didn’t comprehend what you were saying, and it disturbed me to hear you mocking her when she was unwitting.”

James chewed on his beard, contemplating her words. Finally, he said, “No, madam, it is I who should apologise. Hypocrisy I hate most of all. It brings out the worst in me, as you just saw. But you deserve better from me even if she does not. I should have spouted platitudes and avoided embarrassing you.”

“You never embarrass me,” she said softly. “I am very proud to be in your company. I just wish Society had more to offer you. It has proffered neither food, nor friendship, nor good company—”

James stopped her. “Do not slight yourself, madam. In your person, it has offered all of those things. It is only in others those essentials are lacking. I find your companionship so pleasurable that I react too strongly to the vileness of broader society. I promise in future I will be more sociable and you can take me into company without fear.”

She smiled up at him and they began walking again.

“I don’t fear taking you into company now,” she said. “I am also perfectly happy to be alone with you, James. I just feared you’d grow bored with me. If you want to be sociable, I’ll hold a dinner party and limit my invitations to those I’m confident you won’t find vile. But if you don’t, then we will seek solitude and be content in each other’s company.”

James placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his arm, and laced his fingers through hers, the way he did when they lay together, enjoying the aftermath of their shared passion. “I have never known a moment’s boredom in your company. Only pleasure and peace. Do not mistake contentment for boredom, madam. I do not. I appreciate every moment you give me.”

They reached Caroline’s phaeton where it waited in a long row of smart carriages at the edge of the park. James handed her up into it and climbed up beside her. He took the reigns from one of the hire-hands who waited on the edge of the garden and tossed the man a half-penny.

“If you want to have a dinner party, I would be happy to attend,” he told her. “I cannot promise to be civil, but I can be entertaining.”

Caroline laughed and wrapped her hands around his bicep. “You are certainly that, James.”

*

As he had several times before, Caroline’s Indian manservant opened the front door as they reached the top step. James waited for the man to take Caroline’s pelisse, then handed him coat, cane and tophat. He watched the man glide into the recesses of the house before he offered his arm to Caroline and escorted her up the wide central stair.

“Does he lurk around the front door all day, just waiting for visitors to arrive?” James murmured to Caroline. “He opens the door before I ever have a chance to knock.”

Caroline giggled. “No. He has a rather ingenious trick. There’s a channel of stone set into the forecourt. Almost like a gutter. It’s marble, I think, filled with little loose round stones from the river. The channel runs along the side of the house, next to the kitchen. When a horse’s hooves or carriage wheels disturb the stones in the channel, they make a racket like billiard balls that can be heard in the kitchen.”

“Then he comes to investigate.”

“Yes. But he does also seem to have a bit of a sixth sense. I often find Thomas waiting in the forecourt for me. Even when I haven’t given a specific time of returning.”

“Or perhaps Thomas has nothing better to do, and spends his days loitering in the forecourt.”

Caroline bumped him with her elbow. “You terrible man, of course he doesn’t.”

“Admit it, madam.” James paused to open her bedroom door and escort her inside. “With only you to look after, your staff have a rather easy time of it.”

“Perhaps.” Caroline shrugged. “Is that such a very bad thing? They have given me good service for years, and Richard for many years before that. I have no wish to see them exhausted and overworked. I’d rather they be happy with their lots, and have no cause for complaint.”

“Ah, my sweet democrat,” James said, and received another elbow in his side. He took the opportunity to move a step away from her and begin undressing.

Caroline perched on the end of the bed and watched him remove his waistcoat. “You’d prefer the misery that gives rise to strife and rebellion? The King and his flock of carrion crows certainly favour that approach. Tax and tax and tax some more until honest men turn to theft and honest women to prostitution—”

James chuckled. “Are you sure it was Philadelphia that spawned you, not Boston?”

Caroline rolled her eyes at him. “One does not have to be born in a free nation to see how corrupt England’s governance has become, sir. All one needs are eyes and ears and a heart to feel—”

“Before you give me the recruiting speech, my sweet republican, know that I agree with you.”

“Oh.” Caroline gave herself a little shake. “My apologies. I was becoming uncomfortably passionate again, wasn’t I?”

James set his boots on the clothes horse in the corner, hung up his waistcoat and draped his necktie and stockings over the horse as well. Then removed his shirt and trousers and stalked over to the bed. He was aware of Caroline’s warm gaze taking in his nakedness, and the way the sight quickened her breathing and made the pulse leap in her throat.

“As I’ve told you before, madam, none of your passions make me uncomfortable. What does discomfit me is your state of dress. Although as I’ve said, you look very lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, James.” She rose slowly, caught the bed’s post in her hand and used it as a stanchion as she swung around to face him. It was, as with her tightrope walk across the log at Kew Gardens, a move that belonged to the girl she once was, and James hoped she did it now because she felt young and carefree in his company. “I was waiting for you to finish. I thought I might undress for you.”

James felt his eyebrows shoot to his hairline before he controlled his expression. “I’d like that very much.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I’ve been thinking about it a great deal. You’ve been so kind, making me feel beautiful. Giving me such confidence. I wanted to show you how much it has meant to me.”

“I’ve done no more than tell you the truth.” James sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hands. She came to him immediately. “But I’m very pleased that you’ve taken my words to heart, and they have erased the shame you carried so unjustly for so long.”

She squeezed his hands, then released them and lifted her hands to her head. She removed her bonnet, pulling the ribbons slowly and lifting her chin to expose her satin throat as she untied the knot. Combing her fingers through her hair, she pulled out the pins that held it in a thick coil at her nape and shook out her hair so it cascaded down her back. James followed each motion avidly.

She slid her forearm under the silken fall of her hair and lifted it, then turned so her back was to James. “Could I ask you to play lady’s maid for a moment? I cannot reach the buttons.”

James ran his forefinger down the row of tiny buttons between her shoulder blades. “I would be delighted to assist.”

He plucked the buttons one at a time, spreading the muslin of her gown with his fingers, so her pale, finely-boned back was exposed. When he reached the last button, he pushed the gown off her shoulders and stroked her nape and spine. “You are unutterably lovely, Caroline,” he murmured.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Thank you, sir. You have paid me many compliments today, but I haven’t returned the favour, have I? Have I mentioned how very handsome you looked in your new linen and weskit? Or what a bold figure you cut amongst all those stiff, silly dandies in the park?”

James dropped a kiss on her nape, just above the line of her pearls. “You didn’t, but I thank you.”

“Mmm.” She reached back and stroked his head. “Your beard feels soft. I could smell the oil you put on it earlier. I like it very much.”

“It was your Mr. Singh who applied it, after a superior shave, but I admit I like it, too. I’ll ask him where he got it so I can buy a pot to take to France.”

“Let me make a gift of it to you. I know where he buys his from.”

“Is it not your husband’s?”

“No, Richard was clean-shaven.”

James smiled to himself. He didn’t resent her marriage, of course. Nor did he feel he was battling the ghost of her husband. But as with his fresh linen and waistcoat, he preferred to be a novelty to her, rather than a reminder. “As with all the gifts you give me, sweet, I would be very grateful to receive it.”

Caroline turned back to him. Her eyes and cheeks were bright, but not with shame. He could see the difference clearly now. She drew the unbuttoned gown down her arms and stepped out of it. “It is you who have given me great gifts, James. Gifts that I will have for the rest of my life.”

She moved away for a moment to drape her gown over a chair, and kick off her little embroidered shoes. She returned to stand in front of him in her chemise and stockings. Holding his eyes, she untied the small blue bows that held closed her chemise. “You’ve given me the gift of my own skin,” she whispered, as she bared that skin to him, sliding the straps of the chemise over her shoulders, revealing first the lovely pale expanse of her shoulders and chest, then her breasts, flushed and taut-nippled, then her soft belly. The fire and candle-light painted her skin with lines of gold. At her hips, she gathered the material in her hands, baring both her stomach and the tops of her thighs, but covering her pubis. “Here,” she said huskily. “You’ve given me the gift of my sex. I was happy to do my wifely duty, because it gave Richard satisfaction and made me feel close to him. But it was never more than pleasant. I never felt the wild exultation you make me feel, or the sublime bliss of those moments right afterwards when I lie in your arms and feel as though my blood and bone are singing to the music of the spheres.”

James controlled a chuckle at her whimsy; he didn’t want her to think he was mocking her at this moment, when she was exposing so much to him. “I share both the exultation and the bliss.”

“You do?” She smiled brilliantly at his nod. “I hoped you felt the same way, but I didn’t want to ask, in case you thought me foolish.”

James reached out and ran the backs of his fingers from her creamy shoulders to the tips of her breasts and back, and smiled at her shiver. “You may ask me anything. You may tell me anything. I will never think you foolish. All your deepest thoughts should be mine, because I’ve claimed everything you are and you’ve told me you’ll deny me nothing.”

She slowly pushed the chemise off her hips and stood before him in only her gartered stockings.

James tugged at the bow on one garter. “Another time, you will wear your stockings for me, and we will play a different game. But tonight, you are a cabin boy and cabin boys do not wear silk stockings.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Don’t they?”

“None that I’ve met. I would encourage you to start a new fashion among cabin boys, except that I am the only man who may see you in your stockings.” James palmed her thigh, enjoying the softness of her skin, then moved to the second garter and untied it.

Caroline wriggled until her stockings fell to her ankles. “Shall I fetch my breeches?”

“Where are they?”

She nodded at the adjoining door. “In the closet in my dressing room.”

James stroked his beard while he considered. “Yes, fetch your coat and breeches. I was going to stage our little play on your writing desk, but on reflection, I think we’ll be more comfortable in here. And your maid is less likely to walk in on us.”

Caroline glanced over her shoulder at the bell pulls. “Should I tell her to remain belowstairs?”

“She knows to knock before she enters your bedroom.” James shrugged. “Besides, she can’t remain a virgin forever. She might appreciate knowing that there is more to fucking than lying on your back, in the dark.”

“Is there?” Caroline asked, holding her eyes wide.

“That’s another five strokes, madam.”

“Strokes of what, sirrah?” she asked, as she pulled off her stockings and draped them over the chair along with her chemise. Naked, she padded to the adjoining door, cracked it open and peered into her dressing room before opening the door and walking through. “Well, sir?”

“Currently, my palm,” James called after her. “But if your cheek remained undiminished, I can retrieve my crop from your groom, or cut a switch from a tree in your park, whichever you prefer.”

“James!” She peeked back around the door. “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?” James sprawled back on the bed and put his hands behind his head as he looked up at the canopy. “I suspect I would, if sufficiently motivated.”

Caroline was silent for so long that James glanced over at the door. He found her staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. He rolled to his side and started to climb out of the bed. “Caroline, don’t be alarmed. This is just a game. I wouldn’t do anything to truly hurt you—”

She squeaked at being discovered watching him, grinned wildly and disappeared out of sight with a swish of that ash-blonde mane. James rose from the bed and crossed to the door. He pushed it wide. Her dressing room was empty and without a fire, lit by only the dusk outside the windows, but the door of the large closet on the far wall was open and James could see the flicker of a candle within. After a moment, she emerged from the closet with a pile of blue cloth folded over her arm.

James held out his hand for the candle, and after she handed it to him, held out his elbow. Caroline giggled, presumably at his formality when they were both naked, but took his arm and allowed him to escort her back into the bedroom.

“Now that I realise you were not afeared, madam, what were you staring at?” he asked, as they neared the bed.

“Your, um, I’m not sure which name to use. Nob, I think.”

“I see. Why were you conducting such an unladylike examination?”

“You were stretching. Your feet flexed, and you have such elegant feet, and then your, um, nob flexed—”

James swallowed a laugh. “Do I have an elegant nob?”

“Yes, very. James, may I ask a question?”

“About my nob?”

“Yes.”

“You may ask me anything, linnet.”

“What does it feel like, when it moves?”

James stopped by the bed, set the candle in a holder on the night-table, and took her hand off his elbow. He guided her hand to his distended organ and wrapped her fingers around it. “Right now, when I am enjoying your nakedness and the anticipation of our game, it simply feels a little swollen. As when you’ve been a long walk and your fingers become a bit stiff. It’s an awareness, but not a discomfort. Pleasant, even. Shortly, when we play our game, it will rise and throb and ache to make your closer acquaintance. Left for long in that state, it is a discomfort. Like a toothache. When I finally have the pleasure of taking you again, it will be a ravenous beast, snarling and slavering. It is ungovernable and uncontrollable in those final moments. The ache is so fierce, well nigh unbearable, and there is no relief so great as that moment of release.”

“Oh,” Caroline breathed. Her warm fingers flexed on him, but she didn’t tug at him the way a whore would. The way Zilpha had many times when she’d snuck up behind him and slipped her hand down his trousers to tease and torment him. “James, should I—?”

“You should do nothing, madam, as I’ve told you nothing of our game beyond retrieving your costume. You should put it on now, and release my cock before you do. You may have my cock back when the cabin boy has been duly chastised and begs forgiveness.”

“May I beg forgiveness now?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“No, you cheeky ratbag. Put on your costume.”

Caroline grinned and released him.

Her costume, unfolded, was a blue coat, trimmed with black braid and brass buttons, and matching breeches. Exactly what a young merchant might wear. The cloth was serge. It draped well; the skirts of the coat hid Caroline’s curves. Without a shirt beneath, the lapels of the coat revealed the pale swells of her breasts. The breeches sat a little loose on her waist, hinting at the treasure they covered. James turned her around to examine the effect from the back, but had to admit that with boots to cover her shapely calves, he wouldn’t immediately have identified her as a woman.

“You put your hair in a queue or wore a wig, I assume,” he said, gathering the silky mass in his hands.

“I plaited it and wore my tricorn over,” she admitted, letting her head loll back so her hair pooled in his hands. He took a moment to twist it into a loose plait, which he flicked over her shoulder.

“Put a pillow on the edge of the bed, Caroline,” he told her, eyeing the height of the bed and her hips.

She grabbed a pillow and positioned it.

He bent her over the bed, and the view changed dramatically.

“Sweet fuck,” James said. “I cannot believe that went unremarked.”

Caroline giggled.

He ran his hand over one round cheek, clearly defined by the seam of her breaches, then down along the seam, to where it pulled between her pouty lips.

Caroline twisted her neck to look at what he was touching. “Does it not look like a boy’s bottom?”

“No.” He flipped the skirts of her coat out of the way and shaped her buttocks with his hands. “Not in the slightest.”

Caroline shrugged and settled herself on her forearms. “Well, I wasn’t in the habit of bending over like this.”

James reached around and unbuttoned the breeches, then hooked his forefingers in the waistband and drew the breeches down, exposing her bottom. He let the loose breeches hang behind her knees. “Even so, any man who saw you from below rather than above must have received quite a shock. No more running about in men’s clothes, madam.”

Caroline wiggled and James thought he might not be able to restrain himself from taking her long enough to enjoy their game. “What if I ate a little less?” she asked.

“What?”

“You’re saying my bottom’s too round. What if I ate a little less?”

“Don’t you dare,” James growled. “Your arse isn’t too round. It’s perfect.” He took both cheeks in hand and squeezed. “Delectable. It just isn’t a man’s arse, or even a boy’s arse. And I wouldn’t want it to be. I’m very, very happy with your womanly arse.”

Caroline giggled. “Boys have round bottoms, some of them.”

“I do not make a habit of examining boy’s behinds, madam. But the ones I have noticed are not as round as yours. Not even the pertest cabin boy. Now.” James circled his hand on one cheek. “To the matter of cabin boys and their instruction. A captain must maintain discipline, but flogging is too harsh for a cabin boy. Do you know what happens to them instead?”

“I have a feeling it involves the Captain’s palm or belt,” Caroline said.

“Quite right. In this case, the Captain’s palm.” James pinched her buttock and smiled at her squeak. “This arse is much too tender to bear a belt. Have you ever been spanked?”

“Not that I remember. My father might have when I was very little.”

“I see.” James licked his fingers and ran them down between the globes of her arse. He found her vulva already moist and slightly flared. “Tell me why your father might have spanked you.”

“I, um, oh, James.” She wiggled, arched her back and tightened around his fingers as he slid them into her.

“That wasn’t an answer, madam.”

“I, uh, I used to fight with my brothers. Oh!” She gasped as James twisted his fingers inside her and curled them against her pubic bone.

“Yes?” he growled, although he doubted she was fooled by his gruffness.

“I wanted their toys!” Caroline writhed against the movement of his fingers. “Josh had his painted pegs and Benjy had his lead soldiers and I only had corn-husk dolls, so I used to steal their toys. Oh, oh, James! I have no idea what you want me to say!”

James withdrew his fingers and introduced his cock-head. Caroline pushed back against him and he slid into her with a groan. He fucked her for five strokes, then withdrew, to her gasping protest.

“So,” James said, recovering his breath. “You have always been a greedy little thing. Never content with your own toys, you stole your brothers’.”

“Yes, I, oh, I don’t know. Oh!” She jolted at the first impact of his palm on her ass. James closed his eyes to savour the sensations. The sting of his palm, the quiver of her soft buttock under her hand, the heat that flooded her skin. He spanked her again and watched her lovely skin stain pink.

“And you are greedy when it comes to my attentions. Constantly demanding more of my cock.”

“Yes, no, I don’t – what do you want me to say?” she wailed.

James arranged her on the pillow, rubbed his cock against her wet opening and plunged in again. He fucked her for five more strokes then withdrew, panting. “Tell me the truth,” he growled.

“Yes, yes, I am greedy,” she whimpered. “Please, James. Please, Captain Lion, may I beg now? May I have your cock?”

“No. The cabin boy’s chastisement has just begun.” James slapped the cheek he’d left unmarked and smiled at her howl of protest. “Two more,” he told her. He delivered one right on the mark he’d just left, and then returned to her pinkened cheek and slapped a fresh spot a little higher on the curve of her arse, which he knew would be slightly more painful. Caroline yelped.

“That is five,” James said. “You have earned fifteen more. Can you take them all tonight?”

Caroline twisted under his hands. “If I do, will you be proud of me?” she whispered.

“Very proud. But make no mistake, I am already proud of you, sweet.”

“I will take them,” Caroline said, lifting her hips against his hands.

“Ah, that’s my very good lioness.” James positioned her again, thrust into her and gave her five hard, deep strokes. Caroline whimpered. James felt her body clench tight around his, and then the shivers that signalled the beginning of her climax. “Mmm, I can feel that,” he murmured. “Beg me, sweet, and I will bring you now.”

“Oh, James, yes, please, please, I beg you, please, now.”

James gave her what she asked for, riding her into her release as she wailed and trembled under him. He pounded into her, building the tension higher and higher until he felt her shatter, then drew out her climax, gliding in and out of her while she continued to writhe and shudder. At last, she went limp under him, sagging against the bed.

He rubbed his hand up and down her serge-covered back, bringing her down gently. She was still shivering a little under him. “Can you take more, sweet?” he asked. “Or is too much?”

She reached back and groped for him. He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I have you, Caroline. I’m right here.”

“I can take more, my Captain.” She squeezed his fingers. “Whatever you wish.”

He bent over her, pressing his chest and stomach into her back, nuzzling her neck. “I’m so very proud of you, sweet.” She twisted her head, seeking him. He kissed her, nipped at her jaw. “Take off your coat. I want your nakedness beneath me.”

Caroline struggled out of the coat and James tossed it to the floor. He ran his hands over her, from shoulders to hips, admiring her dips and swells, the softness of her dewy skin. He flattened his hands on her rosy arse and slowly pushed back from her. His cock emerged from between her buttocks, red and glistening.

“You can’t see it, but my Cock Robin is living up to its name at the moment,” he told her.

“Is it?” Caroline asked dreamily. She didn’t try to twist around to see it. _She’s still lost in the afterglow_ , he thought. He tickled his fingertips up and down her spine, not wanting to shatter her euphoria by returning to their game too soon. He reached up, loosened her hair and threaded his hands through it, tousling it into curls. He wound one long curl around his fingers and gave it a tug.

“It would be a rare cabin boy with such bonny curls,” he told her.

Caroline gave a soft laugh. “My hair was shorter then. I’ve let it grow since Richard’s death.”

James ran his hands through it again, fluffing it around her shoulders. “Your mane is very lovely, my lioness.”

“Do lionesses have manes?” She stirred and stretched. “I don’t think I saw any in the pictures.”

“No, but you’re a very special lioness. And a very special cabin boy.” He smoothed her hair over her shoulder. “What do you think of your punishment so far?”

She lifted onto her toes, flexing her legs and pinkened buttocks. She gave a little wriggle and James watched in fascination.

“I don’t understand,” she said after a moment of movement. “I still feel the sting, but it doesn’t hurt. It hurt when you did it, but only for a second and then it somehow transmuted into pleasure. How does that happen? I’ve never felt pleasure at any other type of injury.”

“Ah,” James said, running his fingertips over her buttocks to bring her skin alive again. “That is the great conundrum. How does a little pain become, under the right circumstances, such great pleasure?” He reached between her thighs and caressed her vulva, swollen and still slick from her climax. “Shall we further explore this mystery, my sweet?”

“Yes, please.”

James reached up to the head of the bed, snagged another pillow and lifted her to tuck it under her hips. “Put your feet flat on the floor,” he instructed, when he saw her stretching up onto her toes. She did, and he admired the lovely arch the extra pillow created in her hips and back. “That’s very good.”

He smoothed his palms over her bottom, then lightly slapped each buttock with the flat of his hands. Caroline arched and tensed, then relaxed even deeper into the pillows with a soft moan. James felt his balls tighten at the sight.

“Lovely, my dove.” He repeated the motion, smooth and slap, and was greeted with a louder moan. “Rosy as an apple. Is your tender arse sore, little cabin boy?”

“Not sore, but I feel it distinctly when you touch me. Why is that, James?” she asked, stretching her arms out in front of her so the line of her body lengthened. James admired her movement and gave her another smooth and slap. She quivered wildly, arching up onto her toes this time, before dropping back onto her heels.

“You feel it because your skin has been sensitised. The blood brought right to the surface,” he explained, rubbing his palms over the hot, reddened flesh. “It is such a glorious colour, Caroline. Like the sunrise. Perfect.” He gave her a harder tap, using palm and fingers, and smiled when she arched and whimpered.

“James, oh, James,” she breathed.

He gave her a sharp, full spank, first one side, then the other, using his stronger right arm. She nearly climbed onto the bed and he had to put his hand in the small of her back to keep her still.

“Yes, my sweet? Tell me what you’re feeling.” He gave her two more hard spanks and watched her buck and shudder with such excitement he thought he would spill on her back before he could take her again.

“I, oh, I feel so, I don’t know how to describe it. I feel, I feel so good, but wanting somehow. Needy. I don’t know . . .”

He positioned her on the edge of the bed and rubbed his fingers down between her hot, red buttocks. Her core was a wellspring. He gloried in her arousal, stroking her with his fingertips and then the head of his cock while she whimpered. He sank into her leisurely, in one long, slow thrust, then pulled back and fucked her for several strokes while her moans escalated to full-throated wails of pleasure.

“That’s my naughty, greedy cabin boy,” he ground out between strokes. He took her hips in his hands, slapped them hard with his palms, then gripped them as he continued to fuck her. Caroline bucked and shivered under him, grasping desperately at the bedding, arching her back with each thrust so James rubbed across that acutely sensitive spot behind her pubic bone.

Before he got so carried away he couldn’t stop, James pulled out of her.

She screamed softly and jolted backwards, trying blindly to impale herself on him.

He gave her a hard slap between her thighs and grinned at her wail. “No, my greedy little cabin boy. Behave yourself. You will take what your Captain gives you and no more.”

She howled. “Please! Please! Don’t stop!”

He spanked her wet vulva several times while she wailed and twisted under him. “Bad lad,” he told her between slaps. “Bad, bad lad. You pretend to be something you’re not. I’ll have to spank the truth out of you.”

“You know what I am!” she wailed. “Oh, James, oh, please!”

“Yes? Do you need more of your Captain’s cock, my sweet?”

“Yes, oh, please, yes!”

He positioned her and filled her again with a quick, hard thrust, then pulled out. Caroline twisted and reached back for him wildly but he pinned her with his hand between her shoulder blades. Holding her down, he rained slaps across her buttocks and wet, flared vulva until she was squealing and twisting under him. She grabbed her own hair with her hands and yanked in desperate frustration and need.

James untangled her hands from her hair and brought her arms down. He guided her arms behind her back, crossed her wrists and closed his hand around them. “This is the way you will stay while you are punished, my naughty cabin boy.”

“I can’t! I can’t, James,” she sobbed. “Please, I need you so badly!”

“You need me here?” He took his head between his fingers for control, rubbed it up and down her burning, wet lips and sank between them. “Here?”

“Oh! Yes! Please, yes! Don’t stop!”

He fucked her for several hard strokes, then withdrew. “You’re not the one who decides these things, darling,” he told her.

“James!” she screamed.

“Behave yourself, lad.” He spanked her bright red arse, then gripped and squeezed the area he’d hit. She squealed and sobbed.

“Please! Oh, please! I can’t stand it anymore!”

“No? Have I found your limit, my sweet? Do you need this more than anything?” He guided himself into her and plunged in and out of her wet welcome. She bucked wildly, but James held her firm, using his hold on her wrists as leverage to pull her back into each thrust. He found his rhythm and built it, feeling pleasure spiral up his spine. He widened his stance so he could pound into her, fucking her with the strength of his legs and back. Caroline screamed and twisted as the spiral broke, a fountain of sensation that washed through them both. James held himself suspended for a moment, fighting to prolong this magnificent experience, but the sensation of her spasming around him was too much. He felt his control slip away, then his very skin seemed to slip from him as his back snapped taut and his body emptied into hers in a glorious, endless rush. Caroline drew him deeper and deeper, stretching out the moment. James collapsed across her back and held her pinned deep in the mattress as their bodies shuddered together through the feverish aftermath.

He stroked her shoulder, the sweet curve of her arm. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing through him. He couldn’t bear to part from her, although he knew his weight must be too much.

“My lioness, are you all right?”

She nodded and snuffled against the covers. She shifted, trying to reach for him, and James ran his hand down her forearm to entwine their fingers. “I am here, Caroline. Your rock in the storm.”

“James,” she murmured. “It was a storm. A wild tempest. I had no idea.”

He nuzzled the damp tangles of her hair, nudged the curls aside with his nose until he found flesh and mouthed it as though tasting her for the first time. He groaned deep in his chest. “My absolute darling. That was more storm than I have weathered before myself.”

“Really?” His admission pleased her. He saw her cheek round in a broad smile. “Were you swept away as well?”

“No,” he said, nipping at the nape of her neck. “Because I am your rock. But I was a very storm-tossed rock that time.”

She giggled.

“I would like to hold you here all night, just like this, impaled on your rock like Andromeda. But I think we neither of us would be able to move by morning, and your staff would have to pry us apart, which would mortify your steadfast Sikh.” She gave a huskier laugh and he continued, “I’m going to lift off you and you will not move until I move you. Do you understand me very clearly, Caroline?”

“Yes, Captain Lion,” she answered.

James withdrew from her reluctantly, inch by inch, his flesh parting from hers as though rediscovering its own dimensions. He petted her as he withdrew, gently stroking her satiny skin. She sighed as he left her, a mournful little sound, like a lost dove.

“Stay still, my darling. You’ll cramp if you move. I will help and then you can relax in my arms.” He moved to her wash-basin, wet a cloth, and, returning to the bed, tenderly washed the wetness from their lovemaking from between her thighs. As he did, he found his attention drawn to the tight furl of flesh between her buttocks. Finally, unable to curb his impulse, he rubbed his thumb over it.

Caroline jolted a little, then flexed up onto her toes. “James,” she breathed.

“Don’t be frightened, madam.”

“I’m not frightened. That’s very . . . oh, I don’t know. It’s very naughty of you to touch me there. But it feels delicious.”

James stroked her a little more intently, then pressed until her flesh parted and he slid just the tip of his thumb into her.

“Ooo, James.” She moaned and pushed back against him. “Is it . . . is it possible there?”

“Is what possible, my dove?” he asked, although he knew what she was asking and grinned at her sweet innocence as he removed his thumb and finished washing her and then himself.

“Congress, um, intercourse? Between a man and woman? There?”

“It is possible, but alas not for you.”

“What?” She strained to look over her shoulder. “Why not for me?”

James couldn’t control a chuckle. “The gastric disturbances from which you occasionally suffer would make intercourse there a disastrous business.”

She swatted at him ineffectually and James’s chuckle grew to a belly laugh. He ran his hands down the outside of her legs and helped her step out of the tangled trousers, then hooked his forearm behind her knees, scooped her up and lay her on her side in the bed. He saw the ripple as her calves began to cramp. Placing his hands on her calves, he massaged gently and Caroline gave another coo, this one sweeter, a dove enjoying the attentions of its mate.

“How is that?” he asked.

“Lovely,” she sighed.

Smiling, James kneaded her calves and the backs of her thighs until he was sure the muscles had relaxed, then blew out the candles, climbed into bed with her and drew the covers up over them both. She immediately snuggled back against him. James settled her against his chest and nuzzled her soft hair.

She slid her hand under the covers, found his hip and drew him tight against her bottom.

“Trying to get a rise out of me at the moment is a futile endeavour,” James told her. “I am wholly sated.”

“I’m just wondering what it would feel like.”

James had no illusions to what she was referring. “It would feel very uncomfortable, madam. You have no natural lubrication there. It would be very dry and make you very sore, as your body is not designed to accommodate me there, and as you have observed, my girth is not inconsiderable. A little pain can be an enhancement to pleasure. A great deal of pain is not, and I will not risk causing you such pain.”

She murmured and wriggled back against him. “As always, your concern for my well-being is much appreciated.”

He kissed her soft crown and settled deeper into the pillows. “It is the very least I can do, Caroline, for all the pleasure you give me.”


	9. Chapter 9

James left the Harley Street townhouse early, while the sky was turning to pearl in the east, below a band of cloud that promised more rain. He’d left Caroline sleeping, and intended to return before she rose, to wake her with kisses and maybe another incredibly sweet filling of her little purse, if she wasn’t too sore, before they broke their fast.

His questions for Brace had driven him out of her warm bed, out of her arms and those of Morpheus. He’d had no nightmares, but had heard crows calling, their harsh, metallic cries filling his dreams. He knew he needed to answer their call. Soon their cawing would disrupt the calm he’d found with Caroline. He couldn’t allow that. None of his madness must spill over onto his linnet.

He tried not to think of her as he rode across the city to Wapping Wall. The early morning streets were quiet, with only a few carts and sleepy servants moving around. They gave him little distraction. It would have been easy to dwell on his mistress: her warmth, the welcome she would give him when he returned, her wildly passionate response to their game last night, the way she had held him as they slept. But it would have quickly created an uncomfortable consternation, not easily relieved until he returned to her, and James intuited that this morning would be a time for dealing with his past, rather than enjoying the pleasures of the present.

He did not find Brace in the house when he arrived, although there was a fire lit in the kitchen. He wandered up into his room in the attic to check on the safe, and found himself drawn to the round window overlooking the river. The lightening sky was reflected on the steely waters. James’s vision flickered, and he saw his mother again, wearing her crow dress, holding something under the surface of the water.

 _Was it me_? James wondered.

He heard Brace’s step on the attic stairs a moment before the old servant spoke. “Running about in the chill, staring into your head. You’re as bad as your Da.”

“My father cast my mother into madness, then jumped in straight after. He’s scarcely a man to follow,” James observed.

Brace threw two logs onto the embers of the fire. “He was a good man.”

“Yes,” James said bitterly. “Yes, a good man who killed his wife for convenience.”

Brace threw another log on the fire before standing. “You know nothing. Always cow-eyed about your sainted mother. Well, maybe it’s about time you knew about your mother.”

“I do,” James said, turning to the man as he grew near. _I know she told me she loved me, her little_ címsmiit, _yet took me into the river, perhaps to drown me_ , James thought. _As my sister claimed to love me, claimed we were one and yet declared me dead in her heart and took that rooster to her bed. She drowned my memory just as surely as my mother tried to drown my body_.

Brace was shaking his head, spitting hard truths at him, as images of his mother in the water, howling in madness and fury, flooded through James’s head.

“Be very, very careful now,” James warned.

“She wanted you dead, James,” Brace threw at him, before turning away.

James looked again out the window, at the flat grey river. He saw his mother’s face again, heard her screams, and felt as he had before, that sense of drowning, of sinking down into the green water.

 _She did try to drown me,_ he thought, accepting the truth of it. _Because she had lost her reason? Or because she possessed it and knew what I would face living in my father’s world? A lifetime of visions and terror. A lifetime of forbidden desire and slights in a world I belong to as little as she did. Was she mad? Or was she the only sane mind in a madhouse?_

James strode out of Chamber House, pulling on his gloves. He heard Brace on the hall stair as he shut the front door behind him, but had nothing more to say to his father’s man. Brace would see his mother’s actions the way his father had. Neither man would ever understand her, or her son.

The front door opened behind him and James knew Brace had followed him out.

He did not look back as he walked to his horse.

He mounted and rode west along the river, along Thames Street, which was filling with morning traffic. West to Marylebone. West to where his mistress lay, warm in bed. West to Nootka. West.

At London Bridge, he pulled his horse up and looked across the river. His mother’s face flashed across his vision. Her shriek echoed over the water. She wasn’t ready to release him yet.

James turned his horse and rode up Gracechurch Street until he found a bookseller unshuttering his windows. He bought a piece of foolscap and borrowed a pen. He scratched a quick note to Caroline explaining his absence, then collared a street urchin who agreed to deliver it for the promise of a penny.

The more pleasurable of his duties done, he mounted up again and rode north to Bethlem Hospital, better known as Bedlam.

*

Visiting his mother’s grave and viewing the room where she’d been kept, with its chains on the bed and strange symbols scribed onto the walls, left James in an even darker mood than his confrontation with Brace. He lingered in Bedlam’s forlorn, empty halls while the sun burned through the morning clouds and rose to its zenith, while his belly grumbled and his balls ached and ugly visions of his mother and father and sister chased round and round inside his head.

After hours he could not clearly recall, he found himself sitting outside on the damp grass, on a little hillock within the Moorfields, looking over Broker Row. He took his pipe out of his coat pocket and held it between his hands while he watched men, stiff and black in their stovepipe hats and frock coats, going up and down the cobbled street about their afternoon business. He listened to the calls of the ever-hungry gulls wheeling overhead, and the caws of the crows who stalked across the grass, as grave and full of their own importance as the men walking the street. He picked a stone out of the dirt and threw it at a crow when it came too close. The bird fluttered a few feet away, then picked its way back through the grass and pecked at the stone.

“Have you come to bother me, _Chulyen_?” James asked it, dimly remembering the name for the trickster crow god of his mother’s people. He took out his tobacco wallet and striker.

The bird regarded him, tilting its head from one side to the other.

“Did you visit my mother when she was locked in that room?” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder at the empty hospital before lighting his pipe. “Did you tell her stories and promise her escape, knowing all the time the only escape she would find was the grave?”

The bird did not answer, only sidled around his outstretched legs and pecked at the end of his cane where it lay in the grass at his side.

“A grave she intended for me,” James mused aloud, puffing on his pipe. “A watery grave. Cold and green and silent. Away from this city’s filth and bustle. Did she do it out of love for her baby boy? Her little bear-son? Or out of hate for a child borne to the man who bought her?”

The crow knocked its beak against James’s cane.

“What are you saying to me, _Chulyen_?” James asked.

The crow pecked determinedly at his cane, nudging it across the grass.

“Are you telling me to go? To take up my cane and leave this place? To return to the woman who waits for me? Is she all she seems? So sweet and loving. Or is that, too, a trick? Does she lure me in for reasons only women understand, all while she plans to reject and renounce me as thoroughly as my sister?”

His mind spat out that thought like gristle as soon as he articulated it. It was the first thought, after hours of confusion, that he knew to be untrue.

Sunlight broke, sharply and almost painfully, through his internal blackness. James lifted his face, feeling that light, although the sky remained overcast. He tapped out his pipe, climbed to his feet and took up his cane, disturbing the crow, which winged away with a caw.

“Go, _Chulyen_ ,” James said. “Carry a message to my mother and father, across the Great River. Tell my mother, I am not yet ready to join her. Tell my father, I do not yet forgive him.”

James watched the crow flap over the hospital’s squat, sturdy outline, heading south towards the river.

Reclaiming his horse, James followed, first south and then west across the heart of London, to Marylebone.

*

The ride across the city, through streets congested with carriages, horses, carts and those who went on foot by choice or circumstance, took twice as long as his morning journey, and James arrived at the Harley Street townhouse with his stomach announcing the evening meal even more clearly than his pocket-watch.

As he mounted the marble steps, he felt some of the heaviness fall away from him. In a few moments, he’d be in Caroline’s sunny presence. She’d welcome him, and satisfy his every hunger. James felt a hot thrill run through his blood and a slight easing of the ache that dragged at the pit of his stomach all day.

Mr. Singh answered the door and for the first time, after taking James’s hat and coat, did not show him directly into Caroline’s presence.

“One moment, if you please, sir.”

James nodded and the Sikh padded across the thick hall runner to a door on the other side of the main stair that James had not been through. The Sikh opened the door and announced him.

“Thank you, Mr. Singh,” Caroline said. “Please show Mr. Delaney in.”

“Do you wish me to come back later, Mrs. Grant?” asked a male voice that James did not recognize.

“No, not at all, Mr. Alexander.” Then she said something that gratified James intensely. “I have no secrets from Mr. Delaney. You and I are almost finished, are we not?”

“Three more bequests and the drafts you asked for, ma’am,” the man said.

“Very well,” said Caroline.

James waited until the Sikh returned and ushered him into a wood-panelled room. A large, mahogany desk was positioned under the bay window, so the good light fell across it. Caroline sat behind the desk, silhouetted against the window. Facing the desk, there were two leather upholstered chairs. The unknown man sat in one of these. A fire burned cheerfully in the far wall, and the remaining walls, above the wood panelling, were lined with empty bookshelves.

 _Her husband’s study_ , James thought. _Which she left untouched in his memory._

Caroline rose when he entered and dipped him a curtsey. “Good day, Mr. Delaney.”

He bowed to her. “Good day, Mrs. Grant. Forgive my lack of attention today. I was delayed.”

“Not at all. Please, have a seat and let me offer you refreshment while you wait. Have you eaten?” When he shook his head, she reached over and rang a little bell that sat on the corner of the desk beside a cut-crystal vase containing carnations. “May I introduce my man of affairs, Mr. George Alexander? Mr. Alexander, this is Mr. James Delaney.”

The man of affairs, sombrely and not at all fashionably suited in a black top-coat, buff breaches, hose and buckled shoes, rose and bowed to James. James returned his formal greeting.

As James took the proffered chair, the door opened behind him.

“Thank you, Maria.” Caroline gave her maid the same fond smile she always seemed to bestow on her servants. “Would you please bring coffee and brandy for Mr. Delaney, and let Mrs. Singh know that we will dine in the parlour as soon as ever possible?”

The maid bobbed a curtsey before silently closing the door.

“My apologies, madam,” James said. “I’m afraid my delay has cost us the tide and we will have to postpone our outing until tomorrow. But as the rain is holding off, I thought we might go riding after we dine.”

Caroline tipped her head and regarded him, much as the crow had. Then she broke into her dimpled smile. “I would be delighted to go riding. I only have a little business to finish here.”

“Please,” James said generously. “Continue your business and take no notice of me.”

Caroline lifted an eyebrow at him, probably at the impossibility of his suggestion. _You are as aware of me as I am of you, linnet, and if my return did not excite you, the suggestion of_ riding _surely did_. He watched the pulse throb in her throat, and felt his own echo it. She stroked the pearls nestled at her collar before turning back to the papers spread across the desk in front of her.

After a minute, she picked up a pen and dipped it in a silver-chased inkwell. “I would like to add a notation about the books I have sent,” Caroline said. “So there can be no question of ownership.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Grant,” the man of affairs replied.

Caroline wrote, the scratching of her pen the only sound other than the crackling of the fire. She finished, blew on the wet ink, applied a blotter, and placed the document in a stack on the edge of the desk near Mr. Alexander.

As she lifted the next sheaf of papers, her maid entered with a silver tray. Mr. Singh followed, collected a round table from the far side of the room, set it at James’s elbow and stood back to let the maid place the tray.

The maid poured coffee for James and bobbed a curtsey. “I’ve put you out some of the ginger biscuits, sir.”

“Thank you, Maria,” James said. Caroline must have told her staff of his preference, so he said for as much as her benefit as the maid’s. “They are excellent.”

Caroline looked up from the papers and smiled at the maid. “Maria, how long will dinner be?”

“Mrs. Singh says no more than half an hour, ma’am. The soup is already hot, so you can sit as soon as you’re ready.”

“That’s very good. Please give Mrs. Singh my thanks for her flexibility and preparedness. We’ll remove to the parlour directly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid bobbed and retreated with the Sikh silently trailing her. As the door closed behind them, James thought again how obliging her staff were. _If all masters treated their servants so well, and all servants so liked their masters_ , he considered, _we might have no New World to sail to_.

“I’d like to reduce the age the children can access the trust to twenty-one,” Caroline said, picking up her pen again.

“Five and twenty is customary,” Mr. Alexander replied.

“The Singhs and their children are the most sensible sort of people. I’m sure there will be no difficulties.” Caroline bent her fair head. James noticed it was topped by a lace-trimmed cap, modest and a little matronly. It matched her dark blue day dress, which concealed any hint of bosom under a lace collar. _An outfit for every occasion_ , he thought. _This is the sensible woman of business, who I have not seen before. Which is your true face, Caroline? Or is each true and do you swap them like Janus as required?_

Caroline finished writing, blotted and placed the papers in the stack. She lifted the last set, which James could see included several bank drafts. She signed them, placed some in the top drawer of the desk, then folded three of the drafts into letters already written and lying open beside her. She sealed the letters and added them to the pile. Then she handed a fourth draft across the desk to her man of affairs.

“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Alexander,” she said. “It’s been a great comfort to me since Mr. Grant’s passing to know I could rely on you.”

The man of affairs folded the draft and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then he rose and bowed. “Ma’am. I promise you that Miss Hawley will find me of similar service.”

Caroline smiled. “Do take good care of my Ginny.”

“I shall.” He collected the stack of papers and placed them into a leather case. “I’ll see to it that your letters are posted today.”

“Thank you.” She rose and offered him her hand across the desk. The man of affairs took it, but instead of shaking it, he bowed over it and kissed the back of her hand.

“Safe journey, ma’am.”

Caroline gave him a gracious smile, which countered James’s growl. The man of affairs startled at the noise, glanced at James and, taking in James’s expression, beat a hasty retreat, closing the study door behind him with a sharp click of the latch.

Caroline turned her smile on James, and lifted an eyebrow over it. “He only kissed my hand.”

“I’m the only man who may kiss any part of you.”

She shook her head. “My darling James, has our short separation raised your darker passions? I would not have thought you of a jealous disposition.”

“I have a very jealous disposition, madam. Pray remember it when you are tempted to run around in front of my sailors in men’s breeches. If any of them offer me such insult as that man, I’ll have them tied to the mast and flogged until there is no skin left on their backs.”

“Well, I would not want to be the cause of such a terrible punishment, so I will be circumspect. And I am sure Mr. Alexander meant no insult, only courtesy to his former employer.”

“You’ve released him from your employ?” James asked. “Has he disappointed you?”

“Not at all. He’s been stolid, thorough and steadfast. I want to free Mr. Alexander to act for Ginny Hawley without feeling he’s breaching any duty or confidence he has to me.”

“The terrible Mrs. Eddy’s bluestocking niece?”

Caroline nodded. “She’s come into some money and he’ll help her invest it without involving her in any risky speculations or sullying her with trade.”

James rose and offered her his arm. “He didn’t object to you engaging in trade.”

“No, but then I didn’t give him any choice.” She rose and smoothed the skirts of her plain day dress. “I’m sorry, James. I didn’t know when you’d be back. Do you want me to change before we dine? I realise this isn’t our agreement.”

“No, madam. You are excused this once. Although I would very much like you to remove that silly doily from atop your head and take down your hair.”

She immediately did and James smiled to see her hair unbound. The light from the window picked out the palest gold strands and set them softly ablaze. She set her cap on the desk and took his arm. He escorted her across the hall to the parlour, where the table and armchairs had already been drawn before the fire. The table was set with linen and china, glass and silver, and supported a large soup tureen. James smelled chestnuts and warm spices.

They sat and Caroline poured them both claret. James lifted his glass in a toast, “To your excellent hospitality, which I have missed all day.”

“Thank you. Did you find the answers you were looking for?” she asked, referring to the note he’d sent her in which he’d explained the nature of his day’s business.

James took a sip of the dark French wine before he answered. “I found confirmation. My vision of my mother carrying me into the river was a memory, not a hallucination. But neither Brace nor Bedlam could give me any true answers. Why did she carry her baby into the water? Was it to free me, or kill me?”

“James, I cannot believe she meant to kill you. She’d carried you for nine months. Endured the pain of bringing you into the world. Nursed you at her breast. I’ve never been a mother, but I know what it is to love a child. Whatever her reason, she can’t have meant your death.”

“I’ve lived with savage tribes, madam, longer than I lived in my father’s own house. For all we call them savage, for all they do that we consider debased, their lives have a natural order, a grace, which so-called civilised men have lost. My mother was taken away from that life. Bought away from her family by a man who took her as wife. Did she desire him, this strange, white man? Or did she fear him and the filthy, noisy, busy place he brought her to? Did she love the child he planted in her, or did she see it as a parasite better removed from the world?”

Caroline stopped in the middle of ladling the soup into his bowl, put down the ladle and stared at him in horror. “James, no.”

“I have seen half-caste bastards of a white man’s rape left in the bush for the hyenas, madam. It is far from impossible.”

“She was his wife.”

James grunted. “Does it follow that she loved him? Or merely that he used the excuse of the marital bed to legitimise his rape? He _bought_ her. She was his slave, as much as any African taken in chains.”

Caroline shook her head. “I do not know the _Nootka_ , but I know the _Lenni Lenape_ very well. There were many who lived in Philadelphia. I played with two of them, Lomasi and Nahele, as a child. I knew their fathers as well as I knew my own. They never would have sold their daughters. You say that your father bought your mother, but the giving of bride gifts is expected.” Caroline rubbed at her forehead. “I have not told you this – I haven’t told anyone in London this because of the bigotry that people here seem to inhale along with smoke – but my brother Benjy took a _Shawnee_ girl for wife. Their children, darling Kitty and Aracoma, are as brown as chestnuts in autumn. Setepakothe loves Benjy as much as any woman has ever loved a man. She is not a slave, and Benjy gave her father and uncles half his cattle for her. I didn’t know your father or mother, James. I don’t pretend to know what happened so long ago. But never believe because your father gave gifts for your mother that he bought her. Never believe that you are a child of rape. Never believe that your mother didn’t love you, or thought you a parasite and sought to drown you. Believe she ran mad. Believe that being so far from everything and everyone she knew, in this forbidding place with its incomprehensible rules, believe all of that drove away her reason. But never believe she didn’t love you.”

James watched her for long moments. He saw her belief in each word she’d spoken in the clear blue of her eyes. He felt that light, that truth, sink deep in him. It illuminated some of the shadows that had crept and clawed and gnawed their way into his heart. It turned them as fragile as cobwebs and blew them away. “There is another possibility,” James allowed. “That she merely sought to protect me from this strange, cruel world, and in her madness, thought that taking me across the Great River was the best way.”

“I can easily believe that. The Lenni Lenape have no fear of death and they, too, believe that a better world awaits beyond the Great River.” She slid out of her chair and knelt at his feet. She placed a soft hand on his knee, reached up with the other and cupped his cheek. “James, dearest James, is this what kept you away from me all day? These terrible thoughts?”

James nodded. He leaned over, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her up into his lap.

She slid her arms around his neck and pressed soft kisses against his jaw. “Your mother loved you. How could any mother not love such a beautiful, beautiful boy? She was only trying to protect you, in the only way her lost mind could conceive.”

James felt an unbearable pressure grow in his throat. He sank his hand into her soft hair and tucked her face into his neck.

“I know you must harbour some resentment towards your father for taking your mother away from you, but he was only trying to protect you. In his own way.”

James cleared his throat. “Yes, Brace said that, too.”

“They each loved you, James.”

“I remember little love from my father. Only demands of respect and obedience.”

“He was a captain, wasn’t he?” She curled in his lap and pressed her soft breast against him. “A ship’s captain, used to being obeyed. See him with the eyes of a man, James, and appreciate how difficult it must have been for him, to have to protect his infant son from the woman who should have been his greatest caretaker. Many men would have sent you away to relatives. Your father kept you close—”

“He sent her away instead. What does that say about how much love he had for the woman he bought?”

“He sent her to Bedlam, where they would have tried to cure her, James. He would have paid a great deal for her care.” She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “He could have sent her to the gallows for trying to kill you. That would have been within his rights.”

James let the truth of that sink deep, too. He wiped his eyes with his free hand. “You undo me, madam. How did you get so wise?”

“Richard,” she said softly. “He helped me look back with a grown woman’s eyes and see past resentments I had carried for years.”

“You, my linnet? What could you possibly resent?” James asked, swallowing as he tried to bring his voice under control.

She stroked his cheek again and spoke slowly, giving him time to recover. “My father. He sent me away from my brothers and my home to this cold, wet place. I hated England at first, so I know exactly how your mother must have felt. I didn’t know any of my cousins. They had strange manners and made fun of my dress and speech. My bookishness, which was at least tolerated in Philadelphia, was a source of mockery here. I have no ear for music and my needlework, which was accounted fine by my family, was not nearly good enough for the delicate embroidery done by English ladies. I learned to sketch, after a fashion, but I cannot paint. I was considered little accomplished, and when my menses stopped, not even fit to be a wife. I was only given a Season because I demanded it, and then my Aunt McCourt took each and every one of my suitors aside and revealed my barrenness. I actually slapped her when I found out, I was so angry. Richard helped me see that their actions were done out of love, not malice. It was too late to repair my rift with my father, but I was able to mend fences with my aunt. If I can pass along a little of the wisdom he gave me, that’s a fine legacy.”

James grunted. He held her tight, one hand in her hair, the other rubbing the gentle curve of her back. He could feel her spine through the soft fabric of her dress and loved that she was so slight she went uncorsetted. The unexpected feeling of her body through her clothes stirred him every time he touched her. He reached down, shaped her hip and thigh through her dress, and felt a very distinct stirring.

“I need more than his legacy to soothe me,” he said into her ear. “I need his privileges now.”

“Yes, James,” she whispered. She shifted until she could pull her skirts aside, then straddled him. As James sat, stunned that she would not even protest at his brusque demand for her favours, she reached down between them, unbuckled his belt, opened the placket of his trousers and stroked him erect. With her face still buried in his neck, his hand tight in her hair, she lifted herself, positioned herself carefully and began to sink down on him.

Her body was tight and dry. Wholly unready for him. Yet she gave as soon as he demanded.

“Stop,” he ordered. He untangled his hand from her hair and slid his forearm under her arse to support her as she held herself awkwardly over him. He stuck his first two fingers in his mouth and laved them until they were well-coated, then reached down and stroked her soft vulva. She sighed into his neck and sagged against his chest, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He stroked and tickled until she was slick under his fingers, then repositioned his cock and lowered her onto it.

Caroline gasped into his neck, but took him fully and rode him with a will. He left his hand between them, thumbing and plucking her little button until she shook against him. He felt her sharp teeth sink into his neck as she smothered her cries. James made no effort to prolong his release and followed her immediately over the edge, biting down on his lower lip to maintain a similar silence.

He let his head fall back against the headrest. He felt the cold tears in his own eyes as he closed them. Tasted the blood on his lip. Caroline stirred and began to lift herself off him.

“Stay,” he grunted. “Give me your mouth, madam.”

She lifted her head from his neck, brushing her lips over his chin, ruffling his beard, before tipping her face up to his. James plundered her mouth for a moment, revelling in the aftermath of his quick release, before he gentled and lapped at her lips.

“Your mouth tastes of blood,” she whispered.

“I bit my lip to keep from scandalising your servants,” he replied between kisses. He took her sweet face in his hands. The fingers he’d had between her legs were sticky, and he paused to fish a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, wipe his fingers and then press the cloth between them, before he returned to kissing her.

Finally, he drew her face back down into his neck and held her. She stroked his cheek and made a soft humming noise deep in her throat.

“I thought you had no ear, linnet.”

“None,” she confirmed. “Neither did my mother. She didn’t even sing psalms on Sunday because she sang so ill. But when we were sick, she would hold us and rock us and hum, and it was the sweetest melody I’ve ever heard.”

James grunted in approval. It soothed him, too.

She rubbed her thumb across his lips. “Your lips are cracked.” She reached out and dipped her thumb into the claret in his glass and rubbed the wine over his lip. Then she cupped his cheek. “And you haven’t shaved today,” she said softly.

“Nor eaten, nor drunk, nor done anything but think black thoughts.”

She kissed his throat and rose determinedly when he tried to hold her. She tucked his cock away and fastened up his trousers, but made no effort to straighten her mussed skirts. _Were you told, linnet_? He wondered. _Did one of your spies hear my words to my sister? Do you avoid even such unconscious comparison to her?_

She swapped his half-full bowl for her empty one, and filled the bowl with fresh soup. Then she handed him a spoon, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, before she said, “You’ll excuse me for a moment. Please begin without me.”

She took the bowl of cold soup, curtseyed and gracefully walked from the room.

James rose, spoon still in hand. When she closed the door behind her, he sat and did as she bid.

He’d finished the chestnut soup by the time she returned, dressed in her rose dressing gown. He could smell the soap she’d used to clean herself. Her maid followed a step behind her with a tray. James stood when she entered, and smiled as she dropped him a curtsey before sitting across from him. The maid cleared away the soup and set out white fish in a creamy sauce, potatoes _au gratin_ , and buttered asparagus. James took a deep breath, drawing in the smells of the good food, the heady wine, the wood fire, and weaving through it all, Caroline’s clean, sweet scent. He savoured the smells for a moment. Then he picked up his silverware and set to.

The fish was grey mullet, strong enough to stand up to the mustard and dill sauce. James ate slowly, enjoying the flavours, and his satiation, and the peace which filled him as the good food filled his belly.

Caroline seemed content with his silence and ate with appetite. She finished before he did, poured herself a cup of tea and sat back in her armchair with her slippers stretched to the fire.

“What did you do in my absence today, madam?” James asked between bites of asparagus.

“This morning I answered my correspondence and wrote out invitations to a dinner party on Wednesday evening. This afternoon I received several ladies of my acquaintance and met with my man of affairs.”

James grunted. “Did he slobber over your hand on arrival, too?”

“No, James.” She smiled at him over the edge of her teacup. “Truly, I had no notion you would be jealous. I would tease you, but that would be unkind.”

“And unwise, madam. And very like my sister, whom you do not like being compared to.”

“No, I don’t. Did she do things to make you jealous?”

James nodded as he finished the last of the food and picked up his wine. “With anyone who would play her games, but most often a boy named Edgar, whose father sailed with ours. I caught him with his hand up her skirts during one of her games and beat him near to death. That’s why I took the commission to Africa. My father barred me from his house and forbade me from seeing my sister. One of them was going to drive me fully mad, and I could not have said which one it would be, so I left.”

Caroline stretched her hand across the table and James took it, lacing his fingers through hers. He felt her heartbeat pulse through her fingers, and with each strong beat, her light pushed back the darkness that welled up in him at the old memory.

“If I were to have a rival,” Caroline began.

“Which you don’t,” James growled.

“Of course not, but if I did, I would prefer if it was Miss Bow. She has a kind heart, beneath her mockery. She would try to make you happy.”

“You have no rival, and I need no one else to make me happy. Put Miss Bow from your mind. She may have her own stratagems, but she wastes her time, and mine. If she wishes to sail to America, she may take a berth on my ship, but that is all her claim on my inheritance entitles her to. Nothing more. And there is, sadly, no berth available for her canary.”

“Her bird really is quite inoffensive. You’re very cruel, James.”

“Yes, I am. You have not yet had a glimpse of how cruel I can be.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Your roar and your big teeth are very impressive, Sir Lion, but I begin to suspect that all I must do to tame you is offer to scratch your belly and you will roll on your back like a housecat.”

“A lioness does not seek to tame her mate.”

“No? What does she do for her lordly lion?”

“She hunts for him and gives herself to him whenever he demands it.” James omitted that a lioness would bear the lion’s cubs and protect them with her life, because he didn’t want to wound her with a reminder of her barrenness.

“Then I would make a good lioness.”

“Indeed, madam, you make an excellent lioness. Have you eaten and drunk your fill?”

Caroline nodded. She looked over the empty plates and checked the level in his wine glass. “Would you like some pudding?”

“No. Your lion is about to demand you give yourself to him again.” When Caroline flushed, he continued, “I left you sleeping this morning and fully intended to return to wake you with kisses once I got answers from Brace. That his answers ruined my plans leaves me frustrated, madam, and I know only one way I can relieve that particular frustration. So finish your tea and prepare yourself.”

“Oh!” Caroline finished the tea with a quick swallow and set the cup down in its saucer. James heard the small rattle it made as her hand shook.

“Run, madam. Your lion wishes to chase you. Bar your door and I will kick it down, I warn you. Should you reach your lair before you are caught, your lord and master might spare your arse somewhat if he finds you naked and waiting for him. Go, now.”

Caroline rose unsteadily, dipped a curtsey that James had no doubt was the shallowest and fastest of her life, and fled, grabbing up the skirts of her dressing gown as she ran.

James finished the wine in a long swallow, then rose and prowled after her.


	10. Chapter 10

He let her beat him to her bedroom, moving deliberately but without haste through the house. He undressed as he went, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he mounted the stairs, removing his boots at the top, and stalking into her bedroom in only his shirtsleeves and trousers. He tossed his clothes in the general direction of the clothes horse and locked the door behind him.

Caroline whirled from where she’d stopped next to the bed. She’d shed her dressing gown, but was fumbling with the buttons on a chemise she must have been wearing under her day dress.

“Why have you locked the door?” she asked.

“So that when the servants hear your screams they cannot rescue you,” James replied. “You are not naked, madam.”

Caroline tugged at a button so hard it flew across the room and landed on the hearth with a _clink_. “James, I am trying!”

“You are, indeed. Very trying. So trying that my patience is quite at an end.” James pulled off his shirt and shucked off his trousers. Naked, he stalked after her as she retreated, vainly trying to remove the chemise while she circled the bed. Her eyes widened and her fingers shook, whether with excitement or nervousness, James wasn’t sure, but it affected him the same. He felt the blood pound in his temples, and his cock distended, bobbing as he moved.

Caroline shrieked at the sight – playfully, he thought – and bolted for the door.

James caught her in three steps, swung her up in his arms and threw her onto the bed. He had no concerns about her landing on the well-sprung mattress, and watched in amusement as she bounced once and then sprawled on the rumpled covers, with the stubbornly-buttoned chemise rucked to her waist. James pounced on her and whipped the chemise up so it covered her head and arms. Caroline began to struggle out of it, but James flipped her over onto her stomach and pinned her to the bed with his hand in the small of her back. He ran his other hand over her slightly-bruised buttocks in slow circles and smiled at her gasp.

“James, I can’t see anything,” she protested, tugging at the chemise.

“True. Yet I can see everything.” He dipped his fingers between her legs for emphasis and tickled her pouty little lips.

“Oh!” She wriggled under his attentions. When he began stroking her vulva intently, her motion became more sensual. She rolled her hips up to his touch. The flesh under his fingers grew slick and the wonderful musk of her arousal filled his lungs.

He leaned over and kissed the skin of her shoulders, softer and more succulent than a peach, then followed the line of her spine with his lips. “This is how I would have woken you this morning. Would you have liked that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I was sorry to find you gone.”

“I was sorry to leave you. It won’t happen again.” He reached the swell of her buttocks and nipped the soft curve. “I need this more than sustenance. I hungered not for eggs or coffee or even brandy this morning. I hungered for your sweet succour. You sustain me, Caroline.”

“Oh, James.” She twisted, trying to reach him, but he put his hand between her shoulders and pressed her into the mattress.

“I like you where you are, madam.” He slid two fingers into her to emphasise his point. Caroline gasped. Her body contracted madly around his fingers. “Mmm, are you eager for me now? You were unready earlier.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I was focused on business, and then worrying about feeding you fish instead of beef—”

James chuckled against her skin and bit her hip. “Never worry about what you feed me. Everything Mrs. Singh makes is superb. I’ve never eaten so well.” He rearranged himself, sliding behind her so their legs tangled, leaving enough space between their bodies that he could continue to work his fingers inside her, while he rubbed his erection against her silky thighs. “In the hall at the Company’s seminary, we had great feasts. Trenchers piled to the rafters with the things boys like best. And still, none of those feasts satisfied me the way you do.” He pushed his fingers downward, opening her, and slid the tip of his cock into the small gap. “Mmm, will you satisfy me now?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, yes.”

“You do, Caroline.” He pushed in a little way, but found he could go no further with his fingers in her. She was too snug. James smiled to himself and drew out to her gasping protest. “You do in every way.”

“Oh, no. Please, James, I will accommodate you,” she pleaded. “Just put it back in.”

”Put what back in, sweet? I think it’s time for you to use your new vocabulary.”

She twisted under him. James slid his fingers out of her and stretched his body the length of hers. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, rumpling the chemise, and lowered his head until he could whisper right into her ear through the fine cloth. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I may oblige you. But you will have to be specific.”

She made a little choking protest, then sighed and whispered, “Please put your cock back in.”

“Ah, very good.” He reached down and guided himself into her. He thrust a few times, enjoying her wet heat, before he pulled back out. “I have put my cock back in. Now what, linnet?”

“I – I don’t know, James. What am I supposed to say?”

“Tell me what you would like. Fingers, tongue or cock?”

“Cock,” she whispered, trembling at the word.

He kissed her ear and cheek through the cloth, while he positioned himself again and breached her, plying his thickened tip around her entrance. She writhed and tried to lift her hips but he controlled her with his weight, keeping her pinned to the mattress.

“No, you will take what your mate gives you,” he said, nipping at her ear and the back of her neck through the chemise. “You may beg for more of his cock, and he may give it to you.”

“I, oh, please, James. Please, I beg you, give me more of your cock.”

“That’s very good, my demanding lioness.” He thrust a little deeper and she rose to the thrust with a wail. James reached under her, so he could cup her sex in his hand as he took her. With his other hand, he bunched the chemise around her head, gathering the fabric and through it, her tousled hair. He fisted his hand and held her tight as he slowly pushed all the way in to the hilt.

She shook under him.

“Easy, my lioness. You’re trembling. But you are always safe with your lion.” He thrust lazily, feeling the heat gather in his belly and balls. “No matter how hard your lion takes you, whatever demands he makes of you, you are always safe with him, and may always tell him to stop.”

“I know I’m safe with you, James,” she said, her voice shaking as hard as her little body. “I’m not trembling because I’m scared. I’m trembling because I’m excited.”

“Are you, now?” James asked, his own excitement rising. He pushed his knees out, spreading her legs, and held her open as he thrust with the strength of his back and buttocks.

Caroline shuddered so hard the bed shook. Her hands, reaching out of the chemise, grasped wildly at the pillows, crushing the goose-down in her fists.

James released his handful of hair and fabric, reached up and locked his hand around hers. He gripped her sex with his other hand, curling his fingertips into her wet vulva as it flared with arousal. “You open for me like a flower,” he told her, thrusting deep.

“Oh! Oh, oh, James!”

“Yes, my lovely lioness. Do you feel the shaft of your mate moving within you? Do you feel your lion taking you?”

She wailed and shivered and came apart under him. Her release was sharp and sudden. It flooded the air with her musk. Her scent, her abandon, and the wild gripping of her body broke down every barrier within him. He bit the back of her neck through the chemise, using the thin fabric to keep his teeth from breaching her delicate skin.

Her body milked him, sought to draw him ever deeper, and James took full advantage of his position to thrust all the way to her core, taking her as hard as he had promised. He felt his own climax build, but pushed it back, slowing his thrusts, prolonging his enjoyment of every sensation. He found a rhythm he could maintain, of skin and sighs and the wonderful wet welcome of her body as he took her. She moved under him, pushing back into each thrust, never protesting the chemise still covering her head and arms. Never trying to escape his tight hold. He demanded and she gave, and gave, and gave. James took her as hard as he had ever taken a woman, and still she gave him more.

When her submission and his deep penetration and the hard fucking overwhelmed him, he dug his knees down into the bed, pushing her legs wide, encasing her wholly in his body, controlling every inch of her. He pounded his release into her, spending himself into her giving body and roaring his pleasure into the dampened fabric that separated them, tearing it with his teeth.

He lay in her afterwards, not withdrawing. He’d softened a little, but still felt an ache in his balls, a burning in his belly, as though he’d not just found his release. Caroline lay under him, soft and yielding. Her surrender, her gentle compliance, made him stiffen again. He pulled the torn chemise off over her head, brushed the tangled mass of her hair aside and kissed her cheek.

“Your lion requires more, madam. Can you take his cock again, or is your little purse too sore?”

She sighed, reached back and cupped his head.

“You must be explicit. Can you take more of my cock? I need you to say it, my sweet. I need to know I’m not hurting you.”

“Yes, Sir Lion. Yes, my wild man. I can take more of your cock.”

“That is my very good lioness.”

He took her twice more before his cock would no longer rise and the burning in his belly finally abated. He lay on his back, among the rumpled sheets, damp with their sweat, and held her as she lay on his chest. He thought she might have fallen asleep, but then he felt the flick of her eyelashes against his skin as she blinked.

“Are you exhausted, linnet?” he asked, recalling Thorne Geary’s taunts. He wasn’t exhausted, just wholly sated and oddly pleased with himself, as though a plan had come to fruition. But perhaps Caroline felt the _beautiful exhaustion_ his sister’s husband had crowed about. He hoped not. He didn’t like the comparison any more than she had.

“No,” she murmured. “I slept well last night and late this morning and have had no activity but this today.” She stretched, then settled back against him as though she couldn’t bear any loss of contact. “I am satisfied, dear man, and more than satisfied. You were very . . . vigorous, but I’m not exhausted. Do you have something in mind?”

“Could your little purse bear a short ride?”

“More, James? Surely not.”

He chuckled. “Not that sort of ride. I meant a few miles to Hampstead. I want to check on things there.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Let me call Maria—” She began to disentangle herself.

“In a minute. Or perhaps an hour,” James said, pulling her back down against him. “We’ll need to wait for the moon to rise in any event. The road is dark.”

“Mmm.” She settled back against him, tucked her face into his neck and entwined one of her hands with his in the position that had become their trademark. It gave James such deep comfort that he abandoned any plan of visiting the farm tonight, or doing anything but remaining in her bed.

“Or we could go tomorrow,” he said.

“You promised me a sail tomorrow,” she responded, lifting her head so she could nip at his jaw. “I’m becoming concerned about your state of distraction, sir.”

James chuckled as her words brought Atticus’s to mind. “I have never known a better or sweeter distraction, madam. My men certainly fear what your company means for the culmination of my plans.”

She wiggled up so she could look into his face, and propped her chin on her folded arm. “I know how much your plans mean to you, James. I would never divert you from them.”

“Oh, how do you know the depth of my commitment? What has your squirrelly doctor reported to you now?”

“Nothing new, although he sent me a note advising you’d ridden up Gracechurch Street on unknown business this morning. I received it not a half-hour before you returned, so it wouldn’t have done me much good if I’d urgently needed to find you, would it? Honestly, I think he employs the slowest runners in all England.” She stroked his collar with her thumb. “I know the depth of your commitment because I know you, James. I’ve never met any man more focused or determined. Do I really distract you? I’m not sure I do.”

James stretched beneath the warm blanket of her body and tucked another of her goose-down pillows behind his head. He stroked her sides with the backs of his fingers and smiled when she wriggled as he found the ticklish spots high on her ribs. “Believe that I think of little other than you when I am with you, my linnet. But as I have folded you into my plans, that is no distraction.” He ran his hands down her back and traced the snake that began the world on the smooth curve of her hip. “My plans are well-advanced, and need little attention. Just the passage of time, to move the players into position. And perhaps a scheme to bring the gunpowder into the city, past the King’s guard, without getting me hung for treason.”

“Is that the next step in your plan?”

“Yes.” He traced the spiral of days, then traced it again and again, enjoying the damp satin of her skin under his fingertips.

“When do you deliver? You said eight days when you came to me angry that day—”

“I’ve told you, I wasn’t angry at you,” he interrupted.

She turned her head to press kisses on his shoulder before looking up at him. “You shouldn’t ever be angry, James. It makes you fearsome.”

“Sometimes it’s useful to be fearsome.”

“As you say. You deliver on Thursday night, then. Could you not postpone a day, and bring the powder in on Friday night when the carts arrive for market?”

“Disguised as what, madam? Apples?”

“Sacks of grain?”

“Mmm.” James mulled over her suggestion. The gunpowder would have to be disguised as something, and sacks of grain were not the worst suggestion. “The doctor said the need was great. It will take a day or more to get the powder to the blockade. Friday night is too late. No, it must be Thursday night. But otherwise, ‘tis a worthy plan.”

“Just fruitless,” Caroline said with a wry smile. “What else moves around the city late at night?”

“Whores. Drunks. Neither very promising for hiding gunpowder.”

“Do whores never drive carts?” Caroline asked. “I know none, I’m afraid. At least, not professionals.”

James let her little jest curl the corners of his mouth. “What does that say about the limitations of your acquaintance, madam? No, I’m afraid that I know of no whore-carts. Nor drunk-carts, for that matter. There are flower carts, but they come in from the countryside in the morning with their fresh blooms. I think we must stay under cover of night. There are drinks carts, but their bottles and buckets are too small to hide the quantity of powder we transport, unless we became a fleet, which would increase our chances of discovery to a certainty.”

“Must it be a cart, not a carriage?”

“A carriage, even a badly sprung one, reveals the weight it carries.”

Caroline nodded. “I remember. Only last year, the highwayman William Grierson was caught as he tried to escape the King’s men in a carriage with a false bottom. They hung him at Appleby.”

“I would prefer not to be hung at Appleby.”

“No.” Caroline rubbed her cheek against his collar. “If we are to continue such heavy thinking, would you like some wine or brandy to help you cogitate?”

“Mmm. Brandy, and some of Mrs. Singh’s excellent ginger biscuits. Those are particularly good for thinking.”

“Are they? Then you shall have a whole plate.” Caroline slithered off him and James grunted in annoyance at the loss of her weight and warmth. He watched her cross the room, first to unlock the door. The dimples that formed in her buttocks as she walked ensnared him, and he turned on his side to better appreciate the view.

Caroline collected his discarded clothes and hung them on the clothes horse. She moved to the bell-pulls on the wall, but James’s attention lingered on the clothes horse and the black necktie he’d worn to Vauxhall Gardens, which hung on one arm of the horse.

“There is another thing that moves around the city at night,” he said slowly.

Caroline glanced over her shoulder as she tugged on the third bell-pull. “What’s that?”

“Bodies.”

“Resurrectionists, James? If they catch you impersonating a resurrectionist, they’ll hang you faster than if they brand you traitor. At least traitors get trials.”

“Not resurrectionists. The contagious dead. They’re moved at night, to avoid spreading disease.”

Caroline padded back across the room to the bed and James watched in fascination. She made no attempt to conceal her nudity now. Her ash-blonde curls bounced around her shoulders. Her breasts bobbed with the swing of her arms; muscles flexed in her slender thighs. The shadows defining her navel and mound of Venus swallowed his gaze and would not let it go.

He lay back against the pillows and opened his arms. With a smile, Caroline climbed into the bed. He tucked her against his side and stroked her curls back from her face. “You’ve told me how you like to watch me move, that I am a lion, golden all over and beautiful. But there are no words for how beautiful I find you, Caroline. You are sunlight, inside and out. It pains me more than deepest wound to think of all the years you hid yourself and thought yourself ugly because of what that frocked lecher did to you.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “I feel none of that shame anymore, James. You told me I not to think on it and I haven’t. Not once since I told you. The wound’s healed without even a scar. You are a very good doctor, sir.”

“I’m glad it’s healed, but I can’t give you a fraction of the peace you give me.” He kissed her and cupped her head in his hand. “This afternoon, after visiting the room where my mother was kept, after handling the chains with which she was restrained, I sat in the wet grass and spoke to a crow and felt all the old madness return. I came back to you and within the hour, you had loved me and fed me and chased away all darkness. I do not understand your power over me, madam. I do not understand how you lighten shadows that have eclipsed me all my life. But I thank you for it, and I tell you now that if there is anything within my power to give you, you have only to ask.”

She pressed close and kissed him back. “I only want your company. For as long as you can give it to me. I know your business will take you away from me shortly, but I hope you will hasten back.”

“I will. We will be parted for hours only—”

A tap on the door interrupted him.

Caroline called to her maid, “Maria, may we have tea and brandy and the ginger biscuits Mr. Delaney likes brought up? And let Thomas know that Mr. Delaney and I are going riding once the moon rises.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

James waited until the maid’s footsteps had faded and Caroline had settled back into his arms. “You evict me from your warm bed tonight after all,” he grumbled.

“Just think how pleasant it will be to return to my warm bed after we’ve had a ride and seen to your business,” Caroline offered.

“Do not try to placate me, madam.”

“Of course not.” She kissed his chin and James knew she was wholly undeterred by his grumbling. “Before you paid me such lovely compliments, you were saying that the dead are moved about the city at night. That’s true, and they are moved by cart, not carriage, which will not betray any extra cargo.”

“And they are moved in containers convenient for concealment, as your gibbetted highwayman could have told you. Concealing items of value in coffins is a venerable smuggler’s ruse.”

“Will the King’s men not suspect it?”

“Possibly, so we must deter them from looking too closely. Think you the good doctor would supply choleric deterrent?”

“Yes, of course, but not . . . actual bodies, James, surely?”

“Have I finally found something about which you are squeamish, madam? You have no fear of the ugliest barbering, or the blackest secrets of my heart, but you shy from the idea of a dead body?”

“I admit, I’ve only seen three closely. My great-aunt’s when I was a child, my mother’s and Richard’s. I’ve no particular desire to see a fourth.”

“I have seen a great many, and I tell you there is nothing to fear. The Christians have the right of this one thing. Flesh is but clay, a vessel for spirit. When the spirit is gone, wherever it may go, the clay remains. There is no harm in it and no shame or sorrow in returning it to the earth.”

“Oh.” She stroked his bristled cheek. “That’s quite lovely, James.”

“I have lovely moments, madam.”

She smiled and shook her head at him. “You have a great many lovely moments. I just didn’t expect, given your feelings about religion, that you would have such lovely thoughts on that subject. You say I surprise you, but as well as I feel I have come to know you, you remain a great mystery to me.”

James grunted. “Your friend Miss Bow labelled me an unopened box.”

“No, I do not agree.” She gave him a soft kiss and tightened her arm around his neck. “Or if you are, you have done me the great privilege of letting me peek beneath the lid.”

“You know me better than anyone but Brace, and that is only because he has known me longer.”

She stroked his cheek again, but did not meet his eyes. “I notice you do not mention your sister—”

A tap on the door interrupted her, and then it began to open. James reached behind him, grabbed a quilt and threw it roughly over them. Caroline giggled and buried her face in his neck.

“A walking scandal, madam,” James whispered to her.

“A reclining scandal, in this instance,” she murmured back.

Caroline’s maid entered. She kept her eyes so resolutely on the floor, James was surprised she didn’t bump into the bed. She set a tray with a decanter of brandy, two glasses and a plate of biscuits on the night table closest to James, then scurried over to the fire and built it up, before retreating to the door. “Mr. Singh says the moon will be fair and bright by eight, ma’am, and Thomas will have the horses ready. You won’t ride far, will you, ma’am? The roads ain’t safe outside of London, Mrs. Singh says.”

Caroline slid up onto her elbow and looked over James’s shoulder at the girl. “Maria, please don’t worry. Mr. Delaney will be with me and I will take my rifle.”

“No, you will not,” James growled.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Mr. Delaney will be with me and he will take my rifle in case I need to use it. Please ready my fawn riding habit. I’ll dress in an hour. Thank you, Maria.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl curtseyed before escaping, closing the door behind her.

James pushed himself up against the bed’s headboard – whose sturdiness he had several times put to the test – and popped a biscuit into his mouth to enjoy while he poured two glasses of brandy. “First,” he said around the gingery sweet. “We will discuss your armament and then we will discuss my sister. How dare you scamper about the countryside carrying a rifle, madam?”

Caroline scooted up next to him, tucking the quilt across her breasts, and accepted a glass of brandy when he offered it to her. “Would it be better if I scampered about the countryside without one?”

“Colonial and Original you may be, a lady does not carry a rifle.” James was more amused than offended by her lack of propriety, but he enjoyed teasing her as much as he enjoyed Mrs. Singh’s biscuits.

“I’m actually a fair shot, you know. When Richard and I were first married, he used to take me hunting. He only stopped because I offended his friend Baron Selsey by bagging more grouse than anyone else in the party. The Baron complained I quite denuded his fields. He’s a sore loser, as well a mediocre shot.”

“I truly had no idea the depths of your scandal. A lady does not tramp around muddy fields firing off shot at defenceless birds. What would the Lady Patronesses say?”

Caroline shrugged. “Both Countess Cowper and Lady Sefton are fond of hunting, so they would likely congratulate me on my aim. What is it you object to? If you object to anything at all, because I know that tone of voice, James, and I’ve come to recognise when you are exercising your bizarre sense of humour.”

“Bizarre.” James took a swallow of brandy to hide his smile. “Perhaps I’ve erred in letting you peek inside the box, since you find nothing but faults. Yet you continue to desire my company. My vigour must be as impressive as my girth—”

“James!” She swatted his thigh through the quilt.

“I object, madam, to you running around armed when I am with you and will protect you. Anything you fired on tonight would walk on two legs and I have no desire to expose you to a fourth dead body, much less have a man’s death on your conscience.”

“I might spot a grouse,” Caroline persisted. “Or a pheasant.”

“Both will be long abed. Nor are you to go shooting at any deer we might see, as they doubtless belong to the King and we are committing sufficient treason tonight.”

Caroline _humphed_ , but she was smiling. “What if I let you carry my rifle?”

“Out of the question.”

Caroline smiled into her brandy. “Even when turned against me, I find your decisiveness most alluring, sir.”

“Finally, a virtue,” James said before taking another biscuit. “Now let us turn to a subject about which there will be no humour, and which we will finally put to rest. My sister.”

“Indeed, she has no humour that I could discern,” Caroline said before taking a large sip of brandy.

“Madam.” James let both reproach and warning colour his tone.

Her soft mouth twisted and she looked away.

“You do not like to be compared to her, and I do not do so when I say that you know me as well as anyone knows me now. Once, I admit, she knew me better. She was my sole childhood companion for years when we travelled with my father. We were so close, we needed no words to share our deepest secrets. We needed only look at each other to know what the other was thinking.” James paused for a swallow of brandy, knowing that his next words would be as hard for him to say as they were for her to hear.

“I loved her as I have never loved anyone. My love was not pure, not brotherly. It was all too earthly. It damned me in my father’s eyes and I still loved her. She played her girlish games and spurned me and gave herself to me in turns that drove me mad and I still loved her. When we were together, I could think of nothing but having her, and when we were apart, I could think of nothing but returning to her. My love was like the Pole Star, guiding me through every darkness. Even noon in Africa can be black as pitch, when you are in chains, when you have no hope of rescue or escape. Through all that darkness, I felt her guiding me. I knew she was alive. I never questioned it. I thought she was waiting for me.

“But it was all false.” He took another sip of brandy, to wash away the taste of vinegar. “She believed those who called me dead. She married another and disclaimed our love. She gave her allegiance to the church, and if you think her piety smells bad to you, madam, let me assure you that to me it is like being buried in elephant shite. She has become that thing I despise the most: a hypocrite. She broke all faith with me, _with me_ , who kept faith with her for years. She is gone from me now. I cannot fathom what she is thinking. I cannot tell what she is feeling. And I feel, Caroline, I feel as though I have lost some part of myself, that I will never get back.”

“Oh, James.” She curled into him and stroked his cheek. “My poor man. The rumours only relate the salacious passion, not the earnest pain.”

“You have _pity_ for me, madam?” he asked, spitting the words to keep from choking on the wave of bile that flooded his mouth. “You take pity on this poor sinner? I am unrepentant.”

“I don’t expect you to repent, James. And I know you don’t believe in Christian sin.” She leaned against his shoulder. “Even if the current mode was not for all things Egyptian, I am enough of a student of history to know that love between brother and sister is hardly novel. The Egyptians founded dynasties on it. The Habsburgs still do. How could anyone of the _ton_ celebrate Lord Byron but condemn you? I do not take pity on a poor sinner, because I do not see any sin. I take pity on you, for the precious thing you have lost.”

“You pretend to understand me,” James growled, still choking on hot, bitter bile, and feeling it overspill to lash at her, even though he tried to contain it.

“I do understand you. I will not compare my pain to yours, but I too have lost someone I loved above all—”

“That man who was more father than husband to you, do not compare—” James growled.

She put her hand over his heart. “I don’t. I don’t compare my loss to yours. And it wasn’t Richard. He was a kind and good husband but you already know that I felt no passionate love for him. Nor did he have those feelings for me. We were companionable and content, but he was not my lover. I have only known what it is to have a lover since having you.”

James let out a long breath, trying to purge his pain. He put his arm around her, and brought her closer to his side. “If not your antique husband, then who?”

She slid away from him for a moment and James began to protest, before he saw her pick up a comb lying on her night table. He’d seen her wear the comb before, and always thought it a little young for her. Something an unmarried girl would wear: ivory with colourful butterflies. Not sophisticated enough for his linnet.

She handed the comb to him, with the back facing upward. James could see a faint etching in the ivory. He put down his glass to run his fingers across it. “I cannot tell what it says.”

Caroline smiled sadly. “Her handwriting always was atrocious. It says _Felice_ , Felicity Anne Morris. My cousin.”

“You said you had enough cousins to fill a ballroom and Parliament. Was she an English cousin or an American?”

“English. The youngest daughter of my Aunt and Uncle Albert Morris, who live in Kent.”

“And you loved her,” James said. “In the Sapphic way?”

Caroline rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “No, you terrible man. Our love was innocent. It was everything to me at a time when I’d lost all. I’ve told you I hated England at first. Felice made it bearable. She never teased me. She helped me dress and speak like an Englishwoman. We became as close as blood-sisters, and like you and your sister, we could tell what the other was thinking just by exchanging a glance.”

“And you lost her?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“How?” James immediately reconsidered. “You don’t have to tell me if it causes you pain.”

“It’s a very old pain. She’s been dead for seven years in August.” Caroline settled tightly against his side and put her arm across his chest. “Felice was like you. She saw things. Visions. Dreams that came true. They started when she became a woman. She was only eleven then, much too young to bear them. Each month they grew stronger, and darker. By the time I finished school and had my Season, she suffered terrible fits of melancholy each month. She’d lock herself in the nursery and my Aunt could hear her sobbing behind the closed door. My Aunt feared she’d run mad. But I knew that if I could just bring her away from that house, bring her to live with me, all would be well. Their house was a madhouse, with six other children and my Aunt constantly suffering from the vapours. Felice just needed calm, and loving company.”

She paused and ran her hand across his bare chest, to rest again on his heart.

“I remember, when Richard proposed to me, I asked him for a private interview. Away from my aunts and uncles. It wasn’t to ask him to excuse my barrenness, which they all assumed. It was to beg him to let Felice live with us. He agreed immediately – Richard never denied me anything – and he didn’t even make any condition for her keeping, he was so kind. But no arrangements could be made until after we were married and returned from our honeymoon, and by then my Uncle Morris had done a terrible thing. He’d agreed a marriage for her, to a Kentish neighbour, a _gentleman_ farmer. A man of God, who said he did not fear her melancholy. He said he would beat any deviltry out of her.”

Caroline paused and turned her face into his shoulder. “I begged my Uncle Morris not to make her go through with it. Felice was too young. Only fifteen at the time. And she was too delicate for marriage. Like one of the butterflies on her comb. I was wed by then and I knew what she faced in the marriage bed and I knew she could not bear it. I begged Richard to intercede. But my Uncle Morris would not go back on his word and Richard said Felice would be better in the arms of a _godly man_.”

She spat the word and James finally realised the depth of her hatred for the church. _You keep it well-disguised, linnet,_ he thought _, but your hatred is even greater than mine_.

“They said I was foolish to fear for her,” Caroline continued. “That her husband was a good man who would take care of her. But I looked into his face and I saw the same sort of beast that peers out from your brother-in-law’s eyes. He broke her, in their marriage bed, that _godly_ man. He turned her silent and fearful and cold. And the child he forced on her killed her.”

She picked up the comb and turned it over, so James could see the inlaid glass butterflies. “Richard helped me forgive my father for sending me away and my Aunt McCourt for revealing my barrenness, but he could never help me forgive my Uncle Morris. That man killed my Felice, as surely as if he’d fired a bullet into her heart. He killed her and I will never forgive him and I will never get back that part of me that died with her.”

“Come.” James took her glass from her and set it aside with the comb and held his arms out.

Caroline slid into his lap and buried her face in his neck. He felt no tears, and knew her eyes were as dry and bleak as when she’d admitted the source of her shame to him. “Your loss is not as fresh,” he murmured into her hair. “But it is no less real nor deep than mine. Forgive me, sweet, I should not have mocked you. I’m so used to being damned in my father’s eyes and my sister’s and even my own, for what felt wholly natural to me, that I’ve gone rabid. I bite even the most compassionate hand.” He nudged her head back with his chin until he could kiss her forehead. “I will not ask for forgiveness when I bite you as a lion, but I will when I bite you as a mad dog. Forgive me, Caroline. I hurt you when I least mean to.”

She tipped her face up and pressed into his kiss when he gave it to her. “You’re not a mad dog and there’s nothing to forgive. It’s an old, dry pain, like a lost tooth. I only feel its absence.” When he let her take a breath, she pressed her forehead against his and looked up into his eyes. “I said I don’t compare it to your loss and I don’t. You have an almighty rent in your heart, James. I knew it was there. I’ve felt its jagged edges. I’ve seen the bloody evidence in your eyes at unguarded moments. But I didn’t know what it was from. Now that I know, does telling me make the loss any lighter, or is this a wound that will never heal?”

James considered her question as he stroked her head back into his neck. “It is sore, madam. More sore than a lanced boil. More sore than the Malay’s knife wound. It is like the brand on my back when it was fresh. It burns and weeps and will not be silenced, even when I am totally still. But that healed. One of the _Asante_ women packed it with ash and buffalo fat and every day it burned less until it stopped burning altogether. Maybe this will, too.”

Caroline made a little snorting noise into his skin. “My balm is ash and buffalo fat. Well. I hope it smells better than elephant dung.”

James smiled at the top of her head and squeezed her close. “It does until the fat goes rancid.”

“How charming.” She nuzzled his throat. “I’ll have to apply a fresh balm every day to avoid rancidity.”

“I’ll submit to your daily ministrations.” He reflected on their time together and said, “I believe I have already.”

“Yes, you have. I never intended,” Caroline began, then cleared her throat. “No, that’s not true, and I want always to tell you the truth. The truth is that while I did not intend to cause you pain, I wanted to be intimate with you from the very moment I saw you. Standing there so buff and bold amongst all those loud fools.” She reached out and took his hand and brought it to her lips. “I had never seen a man like you, but I knew immediately that you were exactly what I wanted. Once we were intimate, I wanted you to confide in me. Once you told me that honesty was all to you, I knew I would have to reveal those places of pain my own past to encourage your candour. I didn’t realise how painful it would be, James. For either of us. I apologise for my ignorance.”

“Never apologise to me.”

“Not even when I transgress?” she asked, kissing his knuckles.

“Never apologise because you can do no wrong in my eyes, and if you truly transgress, apologising will not spare you the righteous retribution of my palm anyway.”

Caroline laughed softly. “You are a harsh taskmaster.”

“Only to the sauciest cabin-boy who ever sailed the high seas.”

“Might I wear my breeches and coat on our ride tonight?”

“Absolutely not. We go to a greater den of ruffians than those manning my ship, and at night. You will wear your most dowdy habit and stoutest boots and do nothing that shows your shape to any of them. Particularly that lecherous chemist.”

“Mr. Cholmondeley? Miss Bow’s suitor? Why? He seems charming. And I hear from Doctor Dumbarton that he’s quite brilliant. He’s written a book on chemistry, you know.”

“I know. I read it. That’s how I found him. He also partakes of his own intoxicants more often and to a greater extent than any opium fiend, and he fu— he has no respect for the fair sex.”

Caroline giggled. “I do know that word.”

“Very well. He fucks anything that will hold still long enough. And probably drugs what won’t. He should not try to court Miss Bow, and if he so much as looks at you, I will shoot his ballocks off with your rifle.”

She ran her fingers up and down the back of his neck and breathed a warm breath, redolent with brandy, along his jaw. “James, dearest James. Your overprotectiveness makes me melt. And at least I know we’ll be bringing my rifle.”


	11. Chapter 11

They brought her damn rifle, attached to her saddle, since it had a special strap and holder that his saddle lacked. James glowered at the weapon as they mounted up, and then at Caroline when he discovered she was riding astride.

“Where is your side-saddle, madam?” he growled. He knew she had one. She’d ridden it to Kew Gardens.

“I can’t ride side-saddle in the dark. As reliable as Old Bess is.” She patted the roan’s neck. “Anything might spook her at night. A rabbit. A fox. Even a lion. If she spooked and I fell, then where would we be?” She took up the reigns and even James had to admit she had a very pretty seat. “Besides, side-saddles are an abomination and should all be burned.” She clicked her tongue at her mare and the horse stepped out smartly.

“A galloping scandal, madam,” James called after her as he tapped his own grey gelding with his heels.

They rode north, skirting the edge of old Marylebone Park, where the Prince Regent had reclaimed the small holdings and was said to be turning them into a grand pleasure garden. For now, the sagging huts and abandoned hay mows looked sad and empty in the grey light.

Mr. Singh had been right about the moon. The night was clear and bright. But away from the little warmth the city’s buildings held, out among the open fields, it was decidedly cold. The horses’ breaths steamed around their heads, and James was glad of his heavy coat and beaver-pelt hat. He glanced over at Caroline, who was wearing a beige riding habit, trimmed with brown velvet and cut in a masculine style with fitted coat and split skirts. There was no fur at the collar – James couldn’t remember her ever wearing fur – but she wore a knit wool scarf wrapped around her neck, out of which her bright eyes and rosy nose peeped.

“Madam, are you cold?” he asked.

She shook her head and rubbed her nose in her scarf. “The night air’s brisk, isn’t it? But quite refreshing. Perhaps we should go riding every night. Think how well we’ll sleep afterwards.”

“We do enough _riding_ , and sleep well enough after, already. Indeed, insomnia is never something I have suffered from in your bed. Extreme chaffing, perhaps,” He shifted in his saddle for emphasis. “But not insomnia.”

Caroline laughed. “Is Mr. Thomas very sore?”

“No more so than your Mrs. Washington, I imagine.”

Caroline’s laughter belled over the browned heath. “That’s very rude, you know. My brother marched with President Washington. I never met Mrs. Washington, but by all accounts she was a very upright and proper lady and would not appreciate her good name being associated with my nether parts.”

James chuckled. “Your Mary Margaret, then. Are you sore, Caroline?”

“Deliciously, yes, but not so much that I cannot ride, either now or when we return to my house.”

“Outrageous, madam,” James said, shaking his head in mock dismay.

Caroline grinned, her teeth flashing like pearls in the moonlight. She flicked the reigns and edged her horse closer to his. “I’ve thought of how we might pass the miles.”

“Yes?”

“You might teach me three more names. Just for variety, you know.”

“Might I?” James chuckled. “If I were to do so, I’d require assurances as to when and where you might exercise your expanding vocabulary, since you were somewhat reluctant to do so during our earlier encounter.”

She gave a wriggle in her saddle that James knew meant she was rising to the bait. “I will do so whenever and wherever you like, sir, and with greater variety.”

“Mmm. Where we are headed, there is a river, and by the river, a stand of smooth beech. Our last adventure against a tree had much to recommend it.”

Caroline’s teeth flashed again before she buried her face in her muffler. “My boots aren’t even muddy this time. What is it like in the water?”

“At this time of year, chilly, I’d imagine. And as water is not a lubricant, there would be a great deal of friction. Which has its merits, but perhaps not when we’re both rather chapped. I’d recommend the tree.”

Caroline chuckled into her scarf. “Fair point.”

“As much as I enjoy your innocence, madam, there is sometimes an advantage to experience, if it saves us discomfort. So, three more names. The first is for when we are intimate, and should include a modifier as to size, as in, ‘please, sir, spear me with your mighty _shaft_ again,’ or ‘good sir, your massive _shaft_ has left me so sore I cannot sit my horse.”

A wild giggle rose from the depths of the scarf. “I see.”

“Not at the moment, but you will,” James promised, already warming to the idea of taking her against a tree while she whispered her new words to him, despite the serious rawness of the part in question. “Now, the next comes in two variants, one which might be used in well-known company, the other only in the rudest circumstances. The first version is _poker_ , and again benefits from a size modifier, such as, ‘sirrah, your giant _poker_ quite overfills my hand’.” James paused to let Caroline laugh, then he continued, “The second version is extremely rude and I would not expect to hear it from your rosebud mouth, but I tell it to you so you are not left in the dark amongst sailors and scallywags, and that is _pig-poker_.”

“Most unflattering!” Caroline protested.

“Indeed. If you hear a sailor aboard my ship use that term, tell me immediately and I will have him flogged.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Then I will have to flog you, madam. A captain must maintain discipline.”

“You would have to catch me first, and I’ll have you know I can scamper up the rigging faster than a rat in my britches. You’re old and slow and will never catch me.”

“I believe we are the same age. I could outrun you even if I’d been hamstrung, and after I deprive you of your wholly inappropriate attire, I will make sure to put a ball and chain around your ankle for good measure.”

Caroline laughed merrily. “Your humour truly is bizarre.”

“How nice to have a mistress who appreciates my best qualities.”

“I’m most appreciative of all your qualities, sir. They’ve left me wonderfully delicate this evening.”

James gave her a hard look. “Are you too sore for this errand? Tell me the truth without fobbing me off with your witticisms, Caroline. I’ve used you hard tonight. We will turn back if this is hurting you.”

“I was referring to my heart,” Caroline said. The moonlight carved the dimples around her mouth into commas. “Do you know, I was dreading any discussion of your sister? I thought it would leave me angry and regretful. But I find quite the opposite. Not only do I feel much better knowing where things stand between you and her, but quite light now that you know about Felice.”

“Were you making an effort to conceal your cousin’s loss from me?”

“Not at all. It isn’t something that arises in conversation, but it does weigh on me sometimes, even though it was so long ago. I’m not, by disposition, a melancholy creature, but some days I’d remember something she said or did. Once I saw a girl in the street that looked a bit like her. On those days, I would feel very low. Nothing lightened that darkness except the passage of time, and even then, I always knew her loss would come over me again, like a sudden shock to the heart. Very different from Richard’s loss. I miss him, of course, but he had a very good, very long life. He told me often that I made his twilight years happy. So I had no regrets at his passing. Felice was different. She was torn from me when she had just begun to really live. Far too soon. I’ll always feel this rage at her loss, and guilt that I did not do something more to prevent it.”

“You are in no way to blame, madam. No more than for what that ordained pervert did to you. Has telling me about those things made you feel better?”

Caroline nodded, the feather in her men’s style top hat bobbing. “Has it you?”

“Yes and no.” James chewed on the tuft of beard under his lower lip. “Saying it aloud has made the loss sharper.”

“I’m sorry, James—”

“Do not concern yourself, madam. Saying it aloud has also robbed it of its venom. It was more than a boil. It was an old, deep wound that had not so much healed as festered under my skin. It blackened everything within me. Telling you of it has torn off the cover and drained the infection.”

“I’m glad it’s no longer infected,” Caroline said softly. “I wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

James leaned over and tapped Caroline’s horse with his crop. The roan startled, and broke into a canter for a few steps, then settled down into its sedate trot. As he’d anticipated, Caroline kept her seat perfectly well. She laughed during the short canter and circled the roan back to him.

“Like my madness, this was in no way contagious,” James growled at her.

She merely smiled in return. “As your mood seems to lift when you are with me, I’ll allow you that. What of my third name, sir?”

“Incorrigible,” James grumbled. “I will give you a choice. Do you want a name for penis or testicles?”

“Ooo, the latter. I don’t know any names for those except ballocks.”

“Then I give you two, because I’m a generous man. The first is generic and you may use it without fear of offense, even in fairly polite company. It is _goolies_ , used thus: ‘Mr. Cholmondeley lost his _goolies_ when I shot him for being overfamiliar with my mistress’.”

Caroline laughed. “And _I’m_ incorrigible.”

“You are, indeed, madam. The second is my personal favourite: _bawbels_. As in, ‘sir, may I take your bawbels on my tongue while I palm your shaft?’”

Caroline tipped her head to the side, considering. “Mighty shaft, surely.”

“Of course.”

“And is that pleasurable? I thought they were very sensitive.”

“Yes, it is, and yes, they are. You have a soft touch. I have no fear for my bawbels.”

Caroline licked her lips and James felt a jolt of pure heat run from his groin to his stomach.

“Tease me now, madam, and I warn you, you will suffer for it later.”

Caroline lowered her face into her scarf until only her gleaming eyes were visible. “Will you spank me again? I cannot muster much fear of that, I’ll admit. Quite the opposite, really. Or can I induce you to ravage my back passage? I’m rather excited to try that, you know, despite your concerns. I was thinking that I might be able to find something suitable to ease your entrance. My body accommodated you in the front, when I thought it never would, so surely it can in the back, too. Mrs. Singh uses purified oil, which she burns when she worships, I was thinking I might ask her for some—”

“Madam, how dare you harbour such licentious thoughts? I am deeply appalled.”

Caroline shrugged airily. “I have an excellent teacher in the realm of the licentious. He has taught me things I never imagined existed. Do you think oil would work?”

“I think we can make the attempt,” James said, giving in to the inevitable. He’d find away to avoid hurting her. “However, I think Mrs. Singh will be most distressed when she learns what use you have put her holy oil to.”

“Oh, well, the body is a temple—“

“For the holy spirit, according to Corinthians. Madam, you are blasphemous as well as licentious.”

“But if you _anoint_ me—”

“Before I bugger you.”

“Is that what it’s called? Ah, now I know what to ask for.”

“As you well know, I take what I want and I do not take requests,” James said gruffly, although he was more than inclined to yield to this request, particularly given how exciting she clearly found the idea. “Moreover, I will do nothing to antagonise the source of those excellent ginger biscuits. So if you are inclined to ask Mrs. Singh for oil, you may ask for a bottle of olive oil, which will work perfectly well. If she doesn’t use that in her kitchen, whale oil will also work and I will procure some.”

“We have both in the house.”

“Olive oil, then, and rags you don’t mind burning afterwards.”

“Is it very messy?”

“Incorrigible and indelicate, madam.” James wished for a scarf like hers so he could hide his grin. He coughed into his glove instead, causing the geese in the pen on the other side of the hedgerow he was passing to shuffle and honk. “I would not want to stain your fine sheets. Used olive oil would be hard for poor Maria to scrub out.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, James. You are very kind to my staff.”

“They are exceptional, and I’m aware that’s because you are exceptionally kind to them. Without trespassing into your personal business, you seemed to be making financial arrangements for them with your man of affairs when I arrived this evening.”

Caroline nodded. “I’ve pensioned them all off, so when I depart for Paris, I may close up the house for as long as I am away without them losing by my absence.”

“Most employers would simply tell them to find new positions,” James observed.

“The Singhs have been with the house since Mr. Grant returned from India. Thomas was born in the house; he’s the grandson of the old housekeeper. Maria’s his cousin and she came to work for Mr. Grant when she was eight. It might not be easy for them to find other positions, particularly positions they liked. Besides, they deserve better than being turned out on the street. It’s bad enough that I’m closing the house they think of as home.” They trotted along in silence for a minute before Caroline continued, “I had thought to give the house to Ginny. She’s always admired it and she’d be good to them. But she may wish to marry, and would certainly go to live with her husband. I could not guarantee what would happen to them then. Freedom is a better gift. They can do as they like.”

“Freedom? You’ve given them _life_ pensions?”

Caroline stiffened, and her mare tossed her head at the change in her rider’s easy seat. “Mr. Alexander said the same thing. You know, it’s strange. He didn’t balk when I offered him a gratuity, but show a little largess to one’s servants and everyone questions—”

James held up a gloved hand. “ _Pax_ , madam. I didn’t mean to interfere. It is your money and your largess. Mr. Alexander clearly doesn’t know you as do, but I should have expected nothing less from such a consummate republican.”

Caroline said nothing, but her spine slowly relaxed to a more gentle curve. James indicated the upcoming turn to the farm and when they reached the collection of squat buildings, he swung off his horse and reached up for Caroline.

“James,” she said softly, looking down at him. “I know you don’t value Christian charity, and you treat your old butler with suspicion and contempt. Do you think me a fool?”

James fit his hands around her slender waist and lifted her off her roan, drawing her down into his arms. He tucked back a wisp of hair that had worked loose from the complicated twist at the nape of her neck and let his gloved fingers linger on her cheek. “You’re right; I care nothing for Christian virtues. But I believe very strongly in charity, and I admire you for yours. I have my reasons for treating Brace with suspicion. My father died of arsenic poisoning. He may have taken the arsenic himself, in his madness. Or it may have been given to him. Consider who would have been in a position to deliver a poisoned chalice, and my attitude toward both Mr. Brace and Miss Bow may become more comprehensible.”

Caroline slid her hands around his neck. “Oh, James.”

“Some day, madam,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I will discover the source of your sway over me. Why I tell you things I have not told another soul. Things you have no business knowing, and which yet make my heart lighter for having told you.”

“How long have you known about the poison? You gave no sign when we were at your house. Is this something you only discovered lately?”

“No. I have known almost from the beginning.”

“Before Countess Musgrove’s party?”

“Yes, long before then.”

She cupped the back of his neck and leaned in so the brim of her hat touched his. “Maybe Miss Bow has the right of it, poisoner though she may be. You are an unopened box. How could you have suspected this for so long and given no sign?”

“Caroline.” James let out a long breath. “I’ve been alone for many, many years. I’ve learned to keep my own counsel.”

“I’m sorry, James. Of course you have.” Her gloved thumbs rubbed across the shaved areas behind his ears. James smiled at her as she warmed his bare skin. “It can’t have been easy for you to confide in me. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. The more I confide in you, the more danger I put you in. If it was up to me, you would not know about the gunpowder, or this farm, or my meeting in Paris—”

Caroline slid her gloved fingers over his lips. “But I do know. I came to you, knowing. You won’t shut me out now, will you?”

“No.” James kissed her fingers and she put her hand back around his neck. “As much as I should, I can’t. I could not do without the relief confiding in you gives me now. But I still question the wisdom of each confidence. Each draws you deeper into the web of treachery and lies around me. Each makes you more of a target, puts you more at risk. You thank me, Caroline, but you should curse me, scorn me and send me away from you—”

She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his chilled lips. ”I won’t do any of those things. You trust me to keep your secrets. I trust you to protect me until this business is done and we are free to sail away. That day will come soon.”

“Yes, it will,” James said, as much a promise to himself as to her. “Come, let’s see how Mr. Cholmondeley’s experiment fares, and how much closer we are to that day.”

He offered her his arm and she took it, tucking herself close to his side. James picked up the horses’ reigns and looped them over the fence before escorting her into the mixing shed. As he pulled open the door, he said to her in an undertone, “Remember what I said about the chemist.”

“I will endeavour to show the shape of neither bosom nor bottom,” she whispered back.

He grunted in approval.

In the dingy shed, lit only by the embers beneath the vats and the moonlight slanting in through the windows, they found one shift stirring the vats, while the second shift slept fitfully in the cold corners of the shed. Cholmondeley was on the second shift, sleeping sitting up on a pile of grain sacks, with his hands tucked into his armpits for warmth. Robert, on the first shift, looked up from stirring, shyly met James’s eyes, then looked back down into the cindery mix.

“Sir,” he whispered so quietly James couldn’t hear him, only see the boy’s pale lips move.

James guided Caroline before the vat Robert was tending. “This is Robert, the chemist’s apprentice for this endeavour.”

“Hello, Robert,” Caroline said softly. “My name is Caroline Grant.”

Robert looked up with round eyes, then returned his attention to the vat.

“Mrs. Grant,” Cholmondeley said, without moving or opening his eyes. “How delightful to have you join us. Forgive my impertinence in addressing you before we’ve been introduced, but these circumstances surely allow a small relaxation of convention, and, as you are probably aware, Mr. Delaney does not care to introduce the ladies on his arm to other men. You have been pointed out to me at a number of gatherings, including the Countess Musgrove’s recent party.”

“Indeed, Mr. Cholmondeley,” Caroline replied. “I have seen you several times but never had the pleasure of an introduction. How goes your industrious experiment?”

“Very well, indeed. The powder will be ready on schedule.”

“Most impressive, Mr. Cholmondeley. I do hope you will be able to publish your results in the Review.”

Cholmondeley opened a bleary eye. “Are you a subscriber, Mrs. Grant?”

“I am. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to attend any lectures or demonstrations, but I read the Review with great interest on each publication.”

Cholmondeley shifted uncomfortably on the sacks, then rolled slowly to his feet. He patted Robert on the shoulder. “I’ll take a turn. Get some sleep.”

The boy nodded and shuffled toward a platform behind the vats, where James had seen him sleeping before.

“So, Mr. Delaney,” Cholmondeley said. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I had an idea for how to move the powder into the city,” James replied. “On carts, in coffins. Part of a funeral procession. Can it be so moved?”

Cholmondeley considered for a moment, his over-bright eyes, like an owl’s, searching the ceiling. James wondered if he was looking for mice, or confirmation. “Yes. Slowly and carefully. And it would not do to sulphurate or turp the coffins. Bare, unvarnished wood is best.”

James nodded. “I will see to that.”

“The King’s guard will suspect.”

“Yes, but while you’ve been out of the city, a cholera epidemic has arisen. If we post the coffins, that might deter unwanted attention.”

Cholmondeley nodded. “Where is the cholera?”

“In the Americans’ imaginations only. But it is useful. I will procure masks for the mourners, which will have the added advantage of concealing our faces. Is there anything else I must consider?”

Cholmondeley rolled his eyes to Heaven again. “Cover all flame. No torches on the carts, no open candles, and for God’s sake, no pipes.”

“I will smoke my fill before I join you. Expect me at nine, Thursday night. We move the powder at midnight.”

Cholmondeley nodded.

“Until then, you have everything you need?”

Cholmondeley glanced over his shoulder at the platform where Robert had curled up to sleep on a sack of grain. The boy had pulled two empty sacks over himself for blankets. “It’s getting colder. He needs a good coat.”

“I’ll see to that,” James confirmed.

“A place in the world other than with the weasel would not go amiss, either,” Cholmondeley said.

“We can discuss that another time. Is there anything pressing?” James growled.

“No. The powder will need to be ladled into the coffins with deliberation and care, so send them early.”

“I will,” James promised. “Are we finished?”

“For now,” Cholmondeley confirmed. “Mrs. Grant, it was a great pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, sir. Most educational.”

Cholmondeley gave her a courtly bow over the lip of the vat and Caroline curtseyed in return.

“Come, madam,” James said. “We have an appointment with a tree.”

Caroline gave him a dimpled smile. “Let’s not be late.”

As they turned to go, James heard Cholmondeley make a low, appreciative noise. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the chemist biting his lip as he followed the sway of Caroline’s gown. James gave him a narrow-eyed glare and made a mental note to have a word with the man about his masturbatory habits when Caroline was not in attendance.

Outside, the moonlight cast long shadows over the waterwheel and log pile where James had once gutted an assassin like a rabbit and left him as a caution to all who might follow. The body had long-since been removed, and if the dirt was still stained with blood, it wasn’t visible in the moonlight. James stopped to unsaddle the horses and tuck their saddle-blankets over his arm. There was a little grass near the stile and James loosened their tethers enough that the horses could snatch a mouthful. Caroline’s placid roan was already dozing, eyes glazed and rear hoof cocked. When James patted the roan’s neck, she flicked an inquisitive ear towards him, but when neither demands nor apples were forthcoming, she settled back towards sleep.

James offered his free arm to Caroline, and when she took it, guided her beyond the withy fence, into the woods. Away from the mixing shed, under the trees, the air was crisp and smelled of woodsmoke and dry leaves. James inhaled the pleasant fragrance into his lungs, and caught the clean, sweet scent of orange blossoms.

He leaned into her to whisper, “I can smell your perfume, madam.”

“Can you?” she asked, in a husky tone. “If we stop by the river, far away from the farm, you could have a pipe, and then I could smell yours, too.”

James chuckled. “Is tobacco my perfume?”

“And wildness. The best cologne for a man. I’ve never met a man who smells as good as you. Far better than violet water.”

“You mean, you don’t want me to smell of posies?”

Caroline gave a sweet, low laugh and squeezed his arm. “If you suddenly turn into a dandy, sir, I will be most distressed.”

“There is no risk of that. Here.” James stopped at a stand of beech, close enough to the river to hear its quiet ripple, but far enough away for the ground to be dry. He tossed the horse blankets at the base of the trees. “Have a seat. Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” Caroline sank down on the saddle blankets and burrowed her face into her scarf. “This is a very pleasant spot. Do you come out here often?”

James sat down beside her, took out his pipe, tobacco wallet and striker, and lit his pipe. “No, not often. I have some connection to the farmer and his family, and have come to use part of the farm as my factory, but it’s only the production of powder that brings me here.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, a glint of white between the edge of her scarf and brim of her hat. “And the boy.”

James puffed meditatively on his pipe. “What about the boy?”

“He has your eyes, James. The same look. He’s a half-brother, or a son. I don’t mind either, just don’t think me blind.”

James gave a short bark that was not precisely laughter. “Never, madam, never that. You see far too much for your own good. I don’t know for certain what he is to me. I left no woman disgraced when I went to Africa that I knew of, but I’ll admit there were several who could have been his mother. He’s the right age. But, then, I inherited my fondness for women from my father. He had two wives, three, if I am to believe Miss Bow, and I know he kept a number of mistresses over the years. My father left notes of the baby he’d placed with Farmer Ibbotson, but no indication of who the boy was to him. I don’t know Robert’s patrilineage, but I, too, see the resemblance.”

“Either way, do you not want to be a father to him?”

James puffed on his pipe in silence for so long that Caroline moved restively beside him. Finally, he said, “You draw out the best in me, madam. I am more man than monster when I am with you. But I’m still not fit to be around children, much less be a father to one. I will provide for him when I go. That’s the best he can expect from me.”

“Mr. Cholmondeley seems quite fond of him,” Caroline observed. “Perhaps you could apprentice Robert to him for more than this one experiment?”

“Mr. Cholmondeley is not fit to be around children, either. What happens to the boy during his debouches?”

“He’d be abed, I suppose. As all children should be when their parents are behaving irresponsibly.” She scooted a little closer to him on the blanket and rested her chin on his shoulder. “James, I’ll only say this once and then I will resist the temptation to comment any further on your affairs. You would make any child a caring, protective father, which is more than many men of the _ton_. You say you are a monster, but I have never seen any hint of monstrousness from you. Perhaps that is because you shield me. But I believe you shield all those you care for. As you would shield Robert. Orphan him because you do not want the burden of a child. Orphan him because he could have a trade and more certain future with someone else. But do not orphan him because you believe you are not fit to be a father. You are, my lovely, lovely man.”

James puffed in silence while her words filled him. At length, he said, “Take off your hat.”

She immediately did, removing the hatpin and hat and setting them aside on the blanket.

“Now take down your hair.”

She plucked out the pins and tucked them into a pocket, then shook out the coil at her nape and fanned her hair over her shoulders.

“Now come here and put your head on my shoulder and listen.”

She slid to him, put her arms around him, slipping one hand under his coat’s lapel to rest in the hollow of his shoulder, and put her head down. She turned her face into his neck and breathed warmly across his collar. “What am I listening for?” she whispered.

“You will know when you hear it.”

He let her listen in silence until he finished his pipe. He tapped it out on his boot heel, well away from the blankets in case any leaf still smouldered, then put his smoking things away and drew Caroline fully into his lap.

“What have you heard, madam?”

“A nightjar, I think. I’m not a great bird watcher, but it sounded like a nightjar.” She curved her arm up around his neck. “Some toads in the river. Ducks. The lapping of the water. Your breathing, and your heartbeat.”

“It’s that last I bade you listen for. How did it sound?”

“Strong and slow.”

“No catches, no stutters?”

“No. Are you well, James?”

“Quite well. You told me you felt my heart’s jagged edges. But you hear none now, do you?”

She turned her face so her ear was pressed against his chest and held herself still and silent for a long moment. “No, I hear only a steady beat.”

“That is what your words do to me, madam.”

She rubbed her cheek against him, pushing aside the layers of coat and waistcoat and shirt, until she could rest her face against bare skin. Then she pressed kisses, warm, wet, and containing the hidden nip of teeth, onto the skin she’d bared. Her arms crept up around his neck and she turned in his lap so she was straddling him. “May I ride you, Sir Lion?” she whispered.

“If you would prefer that to your appointment with the tree.”

She kissed her way up his neck and nibbled the soft spot beneath his ear. “What would _you_ prefer? I am wholly at your disposal.”

James closed his eyes in bliss. _You give and give to me,_ he thought. _Whatever I want. Whatever I can imagine. I have only to say it and you give it to me_. “We can start here, and end up against the tree.”

“Will you teach me something new?” she asked, nipping at his jaw.

“No, you have exhausted my catalogue.”

She laughed, her lips buzzing against his skin. “I don’t believe that, a man of your vast experience.”

“You already have new vocabulary to exercise, madam. But if you are very well behaved, I might be convinced to show you a novel position, once we have reached the tree.”

“I will be excellently behaved,” she promised, unwrapping her scarf and unbuttoning her coat. She was wearing a collared, linen shirt beneath it, and nothing else. He could see the points of her nipples, shadows against the cloth.

“No wonder you’re cold,” James growled. “Where are your underthings?”

“In my closet at home,” she answered forthrightly and James could not resist a smile. “And I will show you a secret.” She lifted herself slightly and reached into the split of her skirts. James heard her popping buttons, then she pushed the central section of her skirt back between her legs and knelt over him in just gossamer bloomers and her silk stockings, with the habit’s outer skirt draped over her hips. The heavy panel of fabric that had formed the split skirt trailed behind her like a train.

“What is this contraption?” James asked, peering over her shoulder at the fabric pooled across his outstretched legs.

“It’s the height of convenience and modesty. You see, I can just detach the panel if, for example, I’m out riding and need to do the necessary. I don’t have to remove my whole skirt.”

“Or if you are in the woods and need a good fuck. Scandalous, madam. But do your bloomers have such a convenience?”

“No,” she admitted. “But they’re rather modern in their own way.” She ran her fingers between her legs, opening a folded placket in the bloomers to reveal her matted curls and pink lips.

“Shocking,” James said, with a broad smile. Then he helped himself to what the opening revealed.

Despite his demands on her only a few short hours before, James found Caroline adorably ardent. She rode him with strong thighs and soft cunny. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rained kisses on his cheeks and jaw and mouth while she took him, rolling her hips to stimulate them both. James braced himself with a hand behind his back, palm and fingers pressed hard into the saddle blanket for leverage. He sunk his other hand into her silken hair and held her tight as he thrust up into her, wedging himself so deep that he felt his tip bump against the end of her tight passage. Caroline gasped at the sensation, loudly enough to disturb the roosting birds, who clucked and shuffled in the branches overhead, so James did it again and again until she shivered wildly against him, bucked and took him so deep James was sure he’d never find his way back out. Finally, she lost her rhythm and slumped against him.

He held her for a few moments after her climax, enjoying the weight of her against him, the slick heat of her cradling him. Her soft little passage pulsed around him with the slowing beat of her heart. She murmured something he couldn’t hear, her mouth buried in his neck, but he caught the edges of a few words, in which she named him her wonderful lion, her wild man. James smiled over her shoulder, blinking lazily into the middle distance, where a mist was rising off the river.

 _I have given her what she wants from me_ , he thought. _Uncultured, unfettered physical passion. But it is not enough. She gives and gives and gives to me, and wants nothing more than my company in return. It is not enough._

“You delight me, sweet,” he whispered to her. “Do you like love _en plein air_?”

She stirred against him. “Yes, it’s wonderful.”

“It is. But it is also wonderful in your bed, and in your chair, and if we ever get there, against the tree. It will also be wonderful in my cabin on the _Gyata_ , and in every inn from Calais to Paris, and of course in Paris, whose mere reputation will heighten our _amour_.” He kissed her and felt her smile against his lips. “But then I look beyond Paris, and contemplate my travels without my linnet’s sweet song, and they seem very bleak, indeed. Have you ever been to the Azores, Caroline?”

“I’ve been to Madeira. That’s not too terribly far away,” she said dreamily. “Are the Azores very beautiful?”

James chuckled. “No. A green, lawless hell. But that is likely where I am bound after Paris, if your countrymen strike the bargain I expect them to.” He cupped her face in his hand. “If all goes well, Caroline, would you come with me to the Azores? I would very much like your continued company after Paris.”

She smiled, her teeth flashing in the moonlight, and rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I would be delighted to accompany you. You make it sound charming.”

“I will, of course, ensure that no harm comes to you there. I am known in Ponta Delgada.”

“Oh, what a shame. I thought to pack my rifle.”

“Absolutely not. Madam, you are hazard. An unscrupulous Portuguese, seeing you armed, would not hesitate to shoot you, if only to steal your fancy gun. And then I truly would be deprived of your company. Out of the question.”

Giggling, she kissed him. “I promise to leave my rifle on the ship until required, to avoid advertising its quality. Is it very hot there? Madeira was very warm, even though we were there in early spring.”

“It’s very hot. A hot, green hell.”

“Mmm, ever more delightful. But at least I’ll be able to wear my breeches. You won’t make me wear heavy English muslin in a hot, green hell, will you? Richard let me wear my lightest breeches in Madeira.”

“Do not compare me to your senile husband. And no, you hoyden, you may not wear breeches. You will wear attire that befits your gender and station.”

Caroline pouted and nipped his chin. “Wait, what do the native women wear?”

James groaned.

“You may see one or two naked natives,” he admitted. “But you will _not_ dress as they do, madam. Are you trying to drive me mad?”

Caroline giggled. “I promise to wear some clothes. I’ve seen Portuguese women on Madeira. They dressed very beautifully in soft linen dresses with bright red scarves. They looked cool and comfortable. If that is the fashion when we arrive, then I promise to wear it, and not my breeches, or a grass skirt, which I have also seen.”

The image of Caroline in a grass skirt, with her calves bare and hints of her thighs and buttocks showing as she moved made James even harder. “It’s time to move to that tree, madam, and educate you further in the manner and mode of vertical lovemaking.”

Caroline giggled wildly. “Yes, please.”

James gave her a squeeze, then lifted her off him.


	12. Chapter 12

He’d deliberately tossed the horse blankets near a stand of beech, their thick trunks sturdy enough for what he had planned, and smooth enough not to abrade Caroline’s tender skin. He still made her put her gloves back on before he led her over to a pair of trunks growing from a single base. The trunks curved and twisted, reflecting the trees’ battle for the sunlight in the wooded riverbank. The angles were exactly what James wanted.

“The last time we used a tree as our stanchion, I held you against it.” He found a bole at the right height and bent her over it, then guided her hands to the neighbouring trunk. “This time, it is you who will anchor us. Can you do that, my darling?”

Caroline nodded eagerly and grasped the trunk.

“And we will make use of your very modern attire.” He lifted the train of her split skirt and draped it over her back. As he did, he reconsidered her position against the tree trunk and rearranged her so she could lift her knee against the bole. That left her wholly open to him, and James took immediate advantage, plundering between her legs with his fingers. Caroline gasped at his touch and he wondered if she was too sore for such lovemaking. But when he gentled his strokes, her gasps changed over to soft moans. James took that as encouragement; he parted the placket on her bloomers and introduced himself from behind.

Caroline gasped again, but it was a very different gasp. A gasp of welcome as she took him into her body; a gasp of pleasure as he sank deep into her swollen, sensitised passage. James groaned in answer as she gripped him, and ran his hands up her back, digging his fingers into the layers of wool.

“Is this comfortable, madam?” he asked, hearing the deep huskiness in his own voice.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“You are not too contorted?” He flexed his back and buttocks so he drew a small way out of her before sinking to the hilt again.

“No, not at all. The pressure is wonderful.”

James decided not to remind her of the outcome the last time she’d enjoyed the pressure of a similar position – laughing while spread over a tree and pinioned on his cock might also have gastric consequences – and hoped that nothing she’d eaten today had disagreed with her. He rocked gently at first and then with more purpose as they found a rhythm, with Caroline using her hold on the tree to push back into each thrust.

James grasped Caroline’s hips and held her steady against the tree. As he did so, he noticed the edge of a small boot, the point of an elbow in a ragged jacket, peep out from behind an oak nearer the road. He watched for a moment, until he was sure of what he was seeing, but neither stopped his rhythmic motion, nor alerted Caroline to their audience. _I was curious about sex at his age, too_ , James thought. _In fact, I couldn’t have been too much older when I first lay with Helga. Let him watch and see how a man treats his lover. He’ll have many opportunities to see how a man treats a whore_.

Whether it was their little audience, or the freedom of being away from Caroline’s servants, James found the peak of his pleasure both drawn out and voluble. When, gasping, he finally relaxed against Caroline’s back, she reached back to caress his nape and giggled.

“Yes, madam?” he grunted.

“You quite outdid the toads, and the nightjar.”

James chuckled. “I find myself enjoying love _en plein air_ a great deal, too.”

“I gathered. I hope it’s not my servants who constrain you from expressing your enjoyment when we’re at your house. I promise you, James, they’re very discrete.”

James ran his hands down her back and withdrew from her with a grunt. Although his cock was more chaffed that he could ever remember it being, he wanted to be back inside her immediately, glorying in that wondrous sense of oneness. Reluctantly, he tucked himself away and waited while Caroline detached herself from the tree. She put a handkerchief between her legs and closed up the very convenient placket on her bloomers before taking his proffered hand. He led her back to the horse blankets, removed his coat and sat down. Caroline seated herself beside him, an open question on her face. He gestured to the blankets and when she lay down, he spread his coat over both of them and took her in his arms.

“Should we not head back to Town?” she asked.

“Not just yet. Your little purse and my bawbels need some time to recover before we subject them to any further pounding,” he replied, settling her head on his shoulder. He didn’t look to see if Robert was still watching. _But if he is_ , James thought, _let him see how a man treats his lover after he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure out of her. Let him see a man be tender with his woman, rather than finished, his account paid and on his way_.

Caroline cuddled happily to his side, stretching her arm across his chest. “James, seriously, if my servants constrain you, I will send them away at night.”

“To sleep where, my darling, the stables? Do not concern yourself. I am being truthful about enjoying love in the open air.” _And maybe a touch of exhibitionism_. “That was also quite a long build-up, with a pause to enhance my anticipation. Perhaps we will do that always in future: pause in the middle for reflection.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Your self-mastery is impressive, sir. For myself, I cannot pause in the midst of passion. You drive me straight up the mountain and over the peak.”

James chuckled as he stroked her hair back from her cheek and slid his fingers through the soft, warm mass of it. “Mmm, it’s nice to hear my girth and vigour are appreciated. However, we will have to work on your control. If I told you that you must restrain yourself until I permitted you release, would you obey me?”

Caroline shivered and James knew he’d found yet another method of exciting her. “I would try, Sir Lion.”

“I would be surpassingly proud if you succeeded.”

“Oh.” Caroline wriggled a little closer to him and pressed her lips to his throat where it was left exposed by the open neck of his shirt. “I do like it when you’re proud of me. I will try my very hardest.”

“Something to look forward to, then, on our return to your house.”

Caroline giggled. “Goodness, James, you are virile tonight. I think I shall send you to Bedlam every day.”

“It’s not a visitation with madness that makes me so demanding, my darling.” He kissed her forehead and settled himself into the somewhat smelly horse-blankets for a nap. “It’s quite the opposite.”

He felt her cheek round with a smile. She sighed and settled heavily against him. James waited until she went limp before he let himself drift.

*

He woke after an hour, something he’d trained his body to do in the Company’s academy as a lad, to avoid missing his watch. He’d kept up the practice in Africa, training himself to wake an hour before dawn, so he was composed and ready when the sun rose, which was when the tribes tended to attack.

Knowing he had neither the watchman’s wrath nor a tribesman’s spear to fear, James woke slowly. He listened first for danger. Hearing none, he looked around as best he could without disturbing Caroline. He saw no sign of their young voyeur. There was a deer drinking by the river, who looked over its shoulder and flicked a white tail when James lifted his head, but went back to drinking when James moved no further.

James waited until the deer moved off down the shore before checking the woman who lay sweetly asleep on his shoulder. He was tempted to go back to sleep and spend the night under the trees, but he knew he’d regret it when those same trees began dripping on them. Moreover, although Caroline was sleeping deeply now, when she awoke, she’d be covered with bruises from sleeping on rocks and branches, and James wanted her bruised from nothing but his palm.

He ran his hand down her side, and found her hip and thigh covered only by her thin bloomers. The skin beneath was chilled. He groped behind her until he found the panel of her riding habit and tugged it around her.

Caroline murmured sleepily and kissed his throat.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

“No,” she breathed. “I’m always very warm when I’m with you.” She cuddled a little closer, burrowing under the layers of clothes. “I do feel it now you mention it, though. Would you rub my bottom? Your hand’s so warm.”

James obliged, circling her _derriere_ with his palm until her skin lost its chill. “Better, madam?”

“Oh, yes.” She wriggled against him. “Mmm, James, this is so peaceful. Can’t we spend the night here?”

“I thought about it, sweet, but you would enjoy it only until the dew fell. Then you would be very damp and very cold.”

“Shame.” She kissed his jaw, ending with a little nip at the joint. “I suppose we should go back, shouldn’t we? My staff will be getting anxious.”

“They will, indeed.” James turned on his side and ran his hands over her, enjoying the rumpled state of her garments. Her bare throat and shoulder gleamed in the moonlight; James lowered his head to mouth at her soft skin. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled, letting the sweet scent of orange blossoms overwhelm the scents of river and woods. Her cool little hand cupped the back of his neck and stroked, warming with the heat of his skin.

“Mmm, James,” she breathed, wriggling against him as he nuzzled downwards to her breast. “Would you like more already, Sir Lion?”

“Yes, I would like more already. I must be mad to desire you so constantly. But no, we are not going to get carried away before we reach your bed, madam.” He reached down and gently pushed away the thigh she was nestling between his. “Mind your manners or I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“Behave yourself,” he growled. To ensure she knew his gruffness was part of their game, he nipped at the soft swell of her breast before kissing away the sting of his teeth. “Tease me now, and I’ll start your lessons in self-control by fucking you and leaving you unsatisfied for our ride back.”

She shivered wildly. “Please, James. Please can we do that?”

“You’ll be the death of me, madam,” he growled, before he flipped her over onto her stomach and complied.

*

A brisk trot back to Harley Street on the well-rested horses left Caroline as red as a rose and trembling. James watched her as he handed their horses over to her yawning groom. She wasn’t rubbing her arms or burying her face in her scarf. Instead, she kept one gloved hand pressed to her belly as they walked into her house, and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief with the other.

“Caroline, was the ride too much? Do you need another hot bath?” James murmured to her as they mounted the steps to the rear entrance.

She shook her head, but was biting her lip in well-mannered distress by the time they reached Mr. Singh, still in his tails and turban, even though it was past midnight. He took James’s hat, coat and gloves. Caroline waved him away when he held out a hand for her coat.

“Please tell Maria she can go to bed. I shan’t need her tonight,” Caroline said, her voice faint and strained. “Thank you for waiting up, Mr. Singh.”

The Sikh glanced at James, who nodded, before he bowed. “A very good night to you, ma’am.”

James offered Caroline his elbow and escorted her to the stairs. When they reached the bottom, he scooped her up in his arms. Caroline put her arm around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, crushing the brim of her hat against his ear. He could feel the fine tremors that ran through her. She was pressing her thighs together, the tendons behind her knees as taut as wires against his forearm.

“Have I hurt you, sweet?” he asked as he paced up the stairs.

“No, no,” she whimpered, hugging his neck tightly.

When he reached her bedroom, James set her down and took her face in his hands. “Caroline, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, James, except I’m so desperately needy. Please, I’ve controlled myself all through the ride back, but I don’t think I can anymore—”

James began chuckling.

“James, truly, it’s not funny. This is terrible. I’m so very desperate. I’ve never felt like this before—”

“Oh, my little wanton darling,” he chuckled. He released her face, reached up and plucked out her hatpin. Caroline yanked off her hat and tugged her hair out of the messy coil she’d put it in for their ride back. James gently fluffed the tangled mass around her shoulders while she struggled out of her coat, reached between her legs and fumbled with the buttons on the placket of her very modern skirt. She began making little whimpers of frustration when her gloves hampered her efforts to undo the buttons. James bit his lips to avoid laughing at her consternation as she yanked at a button with her-still gloved hand, while she yanked at the glove on the other hand with her teeth.

“Come here and let me undress you,” James instructed.

She looked up at him wildly. “Please don’t tease me,” she said around her glove.

“Never, darling.” _But I do intend to take my time_ , he thought.

When she came to him, he took off her gloves first, and kissed her fingertips and palm as he revealed them. Then he unbuttoned her fine lawn shirt and caressed her breasts through the fabric and then her bare skin, after he stripped the shirt off her. Her flush spread all the way down to her nipples and James bent to kiss them, then tugged at each one with his teeth until they were as rosy as her flush. Caroline grabbed his head and made little mewling noises of need and protest while he teased her with his teeth.

“James, please, you said you wouldn’t,” she cried finally, when he returned to the first nipple he’d tormented and began to suckle. “Honestly, I’m beginning to feel quite sick.”

With a chuckle, James swung her up into his arms. “I’ve never heard of anyone becoming ill from unsatisfied desire, my adorable wanton.” He carried her over to the bed and deposited her on it. Stepping back to remove his waistcoat, he saw the darkness of the worsted wool between her legs. He parted her thighs gently and had to bite back another laugh. She’d soaked the panel of her very modern skirt almost all the way to her knees.

“You are very anxious, aren’t you, darling?” he asked, stroking the wet wool. Caroline writhed under his hand.

“Yes!”

James couldn’t stop a laugh. Caroline wailed in frustration and began tearing at the buttons on her skirt again, but James flipped her over on the bed and held her down with one hand in the small of her back while he finished stripping off his clothes. “Now, now, my desperate little dove, give me just a moment.”

“James!” She tossed against his hand. “You said you wouldn’t tease me! Please, this is agony!”

“Is it? My poor little lamb.” He pulled her hips back so she was kneeling on the bed with her skirt tight against her netherlips. _Just as it must have been when she was riding_ , he thought. _No wonder she’s in such a state_.

He rubbed his fingers up and down the wet wool. The fabric was very fine, and when wet, soft and pliable. He found her opening and pressed in with one finger.

“James!”

“Yes, darling? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I don’t— James, not like that! That doesn’t feel right at all. I need you inside me!”

“Patience, sweet,” he chuckled, pushing his finger in further and rubbing up along her cleft with his thumb. “You see, there’s a difficulty. I’m still quite sated from our earlier activities.”

That wasn’t entirely true. His cock was already distended and either a little more play or a few tugs would bring him fully erect, but he didn’t think she could see it from her vantage point, particularly with him standing right behind her and her skirt bunched around her hips.

“So you may have to be content with my fingers this time,” he continued, which was a damned lie because he fully intended to fuck her again, but, he decided in that moment, lies told when playing sex games were not lies at all, merely fibs. Much like the make-believe that she so enjoyed in dressing as a lad.

“James, ooo!” She pounded the bed with her little fists, which doubled James over with laughter. “This is most ungentlemanly!”

Through snorts of laughter, and while continuing to finger her, James said, “Where is your Christian charity? You have unmanned me, and when I admit my weakness to you, you insult me? Callous, madam, very callous.”

“James!” she shrieked.

“I see by your discomposure that the situation is dire, my darling.” He tugged the wet fabric out, then pushed it back in with two fingers. “I’m given to understand that _in extremis_ , some ladies have resorted to using household objects to give themselves relief. Should I repair to the kitchen to see if the excellent Mrs. Singh has any vegetables in her larder that might suit? A convenient squash, perhaps?”

She thrashed wordlessly, her hands flailing as she tried to batter him. When James held her pinned to the bed and remained out of reach, she began making a high, hissing noise, like a furious cat.

“Not a squash then,” he forced out around guffaws. “I believe cucumbers are out of season.”

Caroline bucked madly and tried to kick at him but was hopelessly entangled in her skirt.

“Now, my dear, that’s not very ladylike behaviour.”

He let her thrash for a few moments, but finally took pity on her and unbuttoned the waist fastening on her skirt. He stripped it off her in two swift motions, wondering what poor Maria would make of the stains, then divested her of her bloomers with a satisfying rip, leaving her in stockings and boots. “Boots on or off, sweet?” he asked, to prolong her agony, since he couldn’t see her letting him fuck her with them on.

“On! On!” she howled.

“Ah, but there’s a bit of muck on this one,” James observed, although it looked like leaf mould rather than horse manure. “Not very conducive to lovemaking.” He made a business of unbuttoning the tops of her boots before pulling them off, stroking her calves as he removed each one, narrowly avoiding getting kicked when he incautiously swapped the hand he had between her shoulders, pinning her to the bed.

“Now, then,” he said, when she knelt before him in only her silk stockings. She almost always wore white stockings, to which James found he was very partial. “I think we’ll leave your stockings on this time, sweet.” He rubbed his fingers between her thighs again, found her body weeping like a pilgrim at the Wailing Wall. Her female flesh was so flushed and enflamed it was purple. James marvelled at the lovely colour even as he stroked her to a deeper puce. “Your slender legs encased in silk are very enticing. So much so, I don’t think we’ll have to resort to vegetables.”

“James!” It was a little choking wail this time and he lent over to check on her. Her eyes were clenched shut; her face was almost as purple as her nethers and sheened with sweat.

“Ah, my little darling, are you _in_ true _extremis_? Let me assist.” He pulled her back so her knees were at the edge of the bed, guided her hips down and his cock up and slowly sank into her. She keened and James paused to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, but was reassured when she arched her back and took him even deeper. He pulled back a little and then thrust deep, stimulating her slick, swollen passage all the way to her core. Caroline’s keen rose to a full-throated wail. “That’s it, sweet. Let my cock soothe you.”

He fucked her slow and deep for several minutes, while Caroline’s cries went from desperate to near deranged as she discovered what James already knew: that in this position, with her kneeling at the edge of the bed, without either of them stimulating her little bud, she couldn’t reach her climax.

When James heard her sobbing, and saw her slender shoulders shaking in true distress, he withdrew from her and helped her turn over. He kissed away the salty streaks on her cheeks as he climbed up onto the bed and drew her down beside him, with her back to his chest. “Put your head on my arm, sweet,” he instructed her, and when she did, he swept her hair up onto the pillow and fisted his hand in it, holding her head down and her neck extended. He ran his lips up and down the long white curve while he positioned her and entered her from behind. “Is this better?” he asked.

She stammered incoherently.

“Shh, sweet.” He cupped his hand over her mons and drew her tight against him. He slid his fingers into her flared, soaked vulva and began rubbing her clitoris. “Let me take care of you.”

Caroline jolted. Her hands scrabbled wildly at him.

“Hold on to my wrists. I am your rock.” When she grabbed his wrists and undulated against him, whimpering, he rocked his hips to stimulate her, then began to thrust in earnest, settling into a rhythm he could maintain until he brought her to completion. Caroline gasped, drawing in a great lungful of air. James thrust several times, lost in the glory of their union, before he realised she hadn’t exhaled. He shifted so he could look down into her purpling face, still holding her tight against his folded arm. “Caroline, breathe. Breathe, my little lioness.”

She let out her breath on a _whoop_ , which rose to a full-throated scream. She convulsed, grinding her head back against his biceps. James held her tight as she climaxed, increasing the speed of his thrusts so he would join her in her rapture. Her gripping passage milked his cock, demanding his seed, and James let her pull him over the edge. He groaned into the dewy skin of her throat as he came, spilling himself into her hungry body in a release like a spring flood. James lost himself for a full minute in the tidal rush, and then relaxed into the pleasant eddies.

Caroline lay against his chest afterwards, her eyes closed, little tears welling along her dark blonde lashes. Sweat beaded along her brow and sheened the satin skin of her throat and chest. With a silent apology to her maid, James wiped his sticky fingers on the sheet, then blotted her skin until only a soft pink flush remained. He withdrew from her and rolled her forward onto a pillow while he rubbed her back gently.

“Caroline,” he murmured to her. “You needn’t speak. Just nod to let me know you’re all right.”

She nodded and licked her lips with a pale tongue.

“Do you want some wine, my darling? Or a little brandy? Again, just nod.”

“Water, please,” she whispered.

James rose and filled a glass from the set on his nightstand from the pitcher on her wash table. Returning to the bed, he slid his hand under her shoulders and helped her sit up so she could drink. She held the glass with shaking hands, but by the time she’d drunk it all, she was blinking and looking up at him with a tremulous smile. He smiled back at her, set the empty glass away and took her up in his arms, propping them against the pillows and headboard.

“Tell me the truth, now. Was it a little too much?” he asked.

Caroline nodded. “I didn’t know I could feel such terrible wanting. But I brought it on myself. I asked you for a lesson in self-control. I didn’t realise it would be quite so awful.”

“Perhaps we leaped too soon into an advanced tutorial.” He smoothed her knotted and mussed hair back from her face. “You are still a novice, and I should have taken that into account. We will build up more slowly in future. Although I greatly enjoyed your frenzy, I think those were real tears at the end, weren’t they?”

Caroline nodded. “I felt delirious. Ill. As though I had a fever.”

“An excess of passion. We will go more slowly next time, and you need not fear your next lesson. Any delirium will be sweet. Although it was too much, I am exceptionally proud of you, my brave dove.”

She gave him a steadier, if still a little watery, smile. “I did hold out a long time, didn’t I?”

“You did. Was it tormenting you while we were riding? You seemed well enough while we were on the Heath.”

“It was when we began trotting as we reached Town. It became quite unbearable.”

“Ah, I see. That was probably too direct and too violent a stimulation for your poor little purse, after all it has been through today. While I appreciate you do not want to trouble your maid tonight, I think you should have another hot bath in the morning.”

“I will,” she promised. “And you, James? I’ve done nothing for you since we returned. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want me to wash you before bed?”

 _You give and give and give to me, my open-hearted linnet_ , he thought. _Even when you are the one in need of succour_.

“No, madam. It is my turn to take care of you. We will each have a brandy, and if you tell me where your Milton is, I will fetch it so you can read me a little before we sleep, but I will provide anything you need tonight.”

Her smile resumed its usual sunny brightness. James turned over to his nightstand and poured two glasses of brandy and gave one to her. She took a considering sip and pursed her lips. “Could I read more of Mr. Blake to you tonight instead?”

“Of course,” James agreed. “You know I am a great admirer. Is Milton too weighty?”

She lifted her bare shoulder and James saw the goosebumps on her skin. He tugged the rumpled covers straight and drew them over her. She gazed up at him with such softness in her eyes as he tucked her in that James felt his heart stutter, before picking up a pounding beat.

 _Is it fair to make her love me?_ He wondered. _And whether or not it is fair, can I do anything else? No woman, not even Zilpha, has ever looked at me that way, and I cannot do without it. I want her love, whether or not I deserve it_.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Caroline said, “I am not enjoying Milton as much as I thought I would. I find myself sympathising a great deal with Satan, although I know that is not at all what’s intended.”

“Probably not,” James said, trailing his fingers across her delicate collarbones as he smoothed the sheets around her. “But he is a compelling character.”

Caroline took another sip of brandy and swallowed before she said, “I fear his plans will be thwarted and he will come to a bad end.”

“I cannot see him prevailing.” James settled back against her side and drank his own brandy. “It is a moral tale, after all.”

She leaned into him, put her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. “Is this a moral tale?”

“Ours? Definitely not. I have less morality than I have propriety. Or is it that you doubt I will prevail?”

She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “No. You are too determined to fail, James. Nor have you Satan’s pride. Although there is a certain similarity in terms of arrogance—”

Deciding that they had both grown far too serious, James plucked the brandy glass out of her hand, set the glasses aside, seized her, rolled her under him and tickled her until she begged for mercy. “Arrogant. You dare call your lion arrogant?”

She giggled breathlessly, pushing at his shoulders without any real intent of throwing him off. “Surely lions are arrogant?”

“Lions are not arrogant. They are rightfully proud.” He kissed her and felt her laugh against his lips. It was almost as good a feeling as being inside her. “I should have known your appreciation of my virtue would be short-lived. So we are back to flaws.”

“Two virtues, if you’ll remember your girth and your vigour—” She broke off into giggles when James assaulted her ribs again.

When he’d tickled her into submission, James leaned up on one elbow and smoothed her hair back from her face. “You humble me, my sweet, as no other ever has.”

Caroline rubbed her thumb along his jaw, ruffling his beard. “You are so beautiful, James. Beautiful and bold and, yes, arrogant.” She caught at his hands when he went to tickle her again. “How could such a man be humbled?”

“Only by you. Only by my linnet. My lovely, lovely linnet. Who brings me that one impossible thing.”

“What impossible thing?” she asked, curiosity beetling her smooth brow. “Nothing is impossible for you.”

“Until I met you, peace seemed impossible.” He kissed her until her eyes grew hooded and her cheeks flushed. “Now, nothing is impossible, except perhaps to convince you to leave my cock unmolested for a few hours.”

She batted his shoulder. “I wasn’t the one who started the kissing, you rogue!”

“You tempted me. You flaunted your skin, your unbound hair, your lovely little nipples that call out to be kissed.” He burrowed under the covers to kiss each sweet breast. “You lured and seduced me, as you have from the moment you put your arm through mine at the Countess’s party—”

She swatted him again. “I didn’t even know what seduction was, then.”

“Your innocence is its own lure. Just as powerful as your nakedness. Perhaps it is you who are Satan in this play, madam.”

She wriggled under him, looking pleased with the notion. “I like that role better than Eve. She’s rather easily convinced to sin, don’t you think?”

James pushed the covers down to bare her left breast, and rubbed his lips across her nipple. She giggled when his beard tickled her. “I don’t know what role Milton ascribes to Eve yet, since we haven’t reached those stanzas. Nor will we ever at the rate you are going.”

“But you know what happens to her. She falls for Satan’s inducements, eats the forbidden fruit and is cast out of Eden for her sin. A fate both sad and really rather dull, brought on by female weakness.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “I’d much prefer to play Satan. I do lack one piece of essential equipment, however,” she said, straining her neck as though she would look beneath the covers.

James followed her line of sight. “I hope you are referring to a tail, madam. Angels, even fallen ones, do not have that bit of equipment.”

“But if God made man in his own image—?”

James attacked her ribs again. “Scandalous, blasphemous, impudent, unruly—”

Caroline twisted under him, giggling madly. “Will you loan me yours?”

“You have had enough of mine for today, madam. More than enough. I think you have possessed it for longer than you’ve relinquished it.”

“Well, if you’d stop sticking it in me so often—” She broke off in a peal of laughter. “No, no,” she begged breathlessly. “It’s sore there. I think I have a bruise.”

James pulled down the covers so he could inspect the spot, and found she did, indeed, have a faint, red bruise low on her side, just above her hipbone. “And how did you get this? Have you been fornicating in the woods, madam?”

She nodded solemnly. “And in your chair, and in my bed, and tomorrow I would very much like to do it before the fire, so that I can admire my beautiful golden lion in the firelight.”

“Shocking. Are these the thoughts that go on behind those innocent blue eyes? Perhaps you are best suited for the role of Satan, you temptress.”

Caroline grinned. “Do you still want me to read to you?”

“No. Reprimanding you for your appalling cheek has fatigued me. Stop riling me, you little wanton, and sleep on my chest so I know exactly where temptation lies.”

Caroline scooted up onto him when he lay back into the pillows. James gathered the soft linen and tucked them both in, relaxing into the cool smoothness of the sheets, and the warm smoothness of her skin. “Where is your hand, madam?”

She twined her fingers through his, kissed his throat and hummed her low hum. James closed his eyes and expected to immediately drift off. It had been a long and draining day. His mind floated, slack and idle as a buoy on calm waters, but sleep did not draw its veil over his thoughts.

Caroline, too, seemed to lie awake, although she was as warm and limp as if she slept.

“Caroline?” he whispered.

“Yes? Are you still awake, my dear man?”

“Mmm. I drift, but do not yet sleep.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she murmured. “That might help us both sleep.”

“I was thinking that it has been a very long day. A day that started badly. Another day of painful reminisces. Yet it has ended well, and I would not have it any other way.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Do you feel any lighter?”

“Yes. I am quite unburdened. How do you do that to me, madam?”

“Only by listening, and observing your strictures. You told me to tell you the absolute truth and I have. You’ve given me the absolute truth in return. It’s a rare thing, isn’t it? To speak the absolute truth to another?”

“Singular, in my experience.”

“We are, all of us, always bound by convention and station,” she whispered, trailing her fingertips across his chest. “I was truthful with Richard, by in large, but I was always careful of his feelings. I did not tell him things I felt he could not bear, or that I thought would disgust him. He knew about Felice, of course, but I did not share my feelings on the matter with him. I was – I was very angry with him, James. Mostly I blamed myself for not doing more – arguing more strenuously with my uncle, interceding somehow, or even spiriting Felice away – but I also blamed Richard. Could he not have said more, done more? I was torn between gratitude for what he did do – which I know was more than most husbands would have – and fury that he did not do enough. It was a strange tension to live with day in and day out. It dissipated over time, and I hid it, too, but when I look back on that year, that first year of our marriage, it was blighted by anger and blame. Foolish, wasn’t it? To live with another, sleep with another, eat with another, and all that time hide such feelings?”

James stroked her soft head. “And yet we all of us do it, all of the time. You say I treat Brace with suspicion and contempt, but my feelings for him are almost the same as yours for your husband.”

“Gratitude?”

“Yes. I am very grateful to him. He took good care of my father for many years. He stayed when others would have abandoned an old man to his madness.”

“But you also suspect him of poisoning his own master.”

“I do. Even if it wasn’t his hand slipping arsenic into my father’s beer, didn’t he realise? Couldn’t he have stopped it? Fury, as you said, madam. I feel it every time I look at him.”

“Will you confront him?”

“Yes, when the time is right. But even then, I doubt I will speak my mind. My gratitude for his years of service will temper my words, as will my concern for his age. No, it is only to you that I can tell the absolute truth, madam. Because you have proved you do not judge.”

“I have no right to judge, and no desire to. It is not my nature.”

“No, you are a linnet, as I have named you. Delighting all around you with your song while you go about your business. Unobtrusively bringing sweetness and colour to the world. Do you think a linnet judges a sparrow or a blackbird?”

“No, but I think it might condemn a sparrowhawk rather strongly.”

James chuckled. “Perhaps. If you are truly a sweet songbird, then you should be asleep, my darling. It’s nearly three in the morning.”

“Is it?” She lifted her head so she could check the enamelled clock on the mantle. “So it is. Why am I so awake, James?”

“Overstimulation, I suspect. I feel the same. A thrumming in the blood. But I know a remedy. Turn over onto your side.”

She immediately began to roll over, even as she asked, “James, do you wish—?”

“I wish to sleep, and I am never going to get to sleep while you are jabbering at me, my noisy little jay.” He chuckled at her _humphing_ protest. When she settled on her side, James moved in behind her, sliding his arm under her head, his thigh between hers. He rubbed his free hand up her back, then gently massaged her shoulders. “There, how is that?”

“Lovely. This whole evening has been lovely, James. Even the bit that was a little too much for me. It had it’s own harsh pleasure. How do you do that?”

“If I told you my secret, then you’d hardly need me anymore, would you? I prefer to remain indispensible.”

“Oh, James, you will always be indispensible. How could I ever find another man like you?” She gave a soft sigh. “Do you know what Maria asked me this afternoon before you returned? She asked me if all men from Africa were like you. She sounded prepared to travel there to find out.”

“You may inform your maid that I am unique, and spare her the trip.” He rubbed his thumb up and down the back of her neck, and felt her melt back against him. “Have I found a sore spot, my dove? Did I hold you too tight when I was taking you?”

“Mmm, I don’t know why it’s sore, but that feels delicious. I adore sleeping with you. This is very wrong of me to say, but sleeping with Richard was nothing like this. It was pleasant, but nothing more. I feel wonderful when you and I sleep together.”

“As do I,” James murmured, curling tighter around her. “When we sleep like this, I have no bad dreams. I sleep deeply and peacefully. And I wake with the most magnificent erection.”

Caroline giggled very softly, very sleepily. “All of your erections are magnificent.”

“Have we found something else about me you admire, my dear?” James rubbed his face in her hair. “A third virtue?”

“It does seem related to the first,” Caroline demurred.

“Alas, back to two.”

“There are other things I admire about you,” Caroline murmured.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

James waited, but the next sound Caroline made was the little whistling noise that preceded her soft snores. He chuckled and closed his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

James woke gently, easily, sliding from the grey mist of sleep into the golden mist of the autumn morning. He lifted his head to check the clock, since his gauge of the time by the position of the sun was no longer quite reliable after his years at a very different latitude. It was a few minutes before eight. They’d slept for only five hours, but James felt fully refreshed, as though he’d slept twice that long.

 _And we have at least an hour before her maid knocks_ , he thought.

Caroline was still sleeping with her head on his bent arm, her body curled within the curve of his. And as he’d promised her before they slept, his full and pulsing erection was nestled in the cleft of her buttocks.

 _At least an hour. Mmm, how to spend it?_ He wondered.

James tightened his arm around Caroline’s soft middle. His hand found the mound of her breast naturally, and he caressed her as he contemplated how he wanted to take her. _After our contortions of last night, she might enjoy some simplicity this morning_ , he thought.

While he was ruminating, Caroline stretched sleepily and cupped her hand over his. “James, that’s such a nice way to wake up.”

He nuzzled the back of her head. “Good morning, linnet.”

“Good morning, Sir Lion. Is there anything I may do for you before our sail?”

“Make love with me,” he murmured to her in his deepest tone, and felt her shiver with excitement. “Bathe for me. Eat with me. Talk with me. Do all those things that you do for me, Caroline, which give me such peace and contentment. Those wondrous gifts you give me just by being you.”

“Oh, James.” She turned over in his arms and cupped his cheek in her hand. “You say such lovely, unexpected things.”

“Why unexpected, madam?” he asked, while he pulled her close and kissed her. “Do you think me devoid of tender feelings?”

“No, of course not. It’s just, you know, in stories, knights adore their ladies for some exceptional quality. Great beauty. Virtue. Noble birth. I am very ordinary, and the things I can offer you seem to me very ordinary. Yet you appreciate them as though I was giving you chests of diamonds, or the keys to Constantinople. It’s lovely, and unexpected.”

“First, you are very far from ordinary.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Second, you are a great beauty.” He nipped her chin when she shook her head. “Third, if you have chests of diamonds or the keys to Constantinople hidden about the place, then of course I demand you give them to me immediately.” He paused to let her giggle. “And fourth, knights may be so foolish as to fail to appreciate those humble qualities of care and affection, but lions are practical creatures who value those things above all, and they never, ever leave their mate in doubt as to their appreciation.”

Caroline smiled brilliantly at him. “I am very glad you are a lion rather than a knight.”

“And I am very glad that you are my lioness rather than some high-born damsel who is routinely spirited away by rivals, only to be too virtuous to reward my daring when I rescue her. Those sorts of stories have nothing to recommend them, and Lancelot is a model for nothing except very sore bawbels.”

Caroline giggled. “I’m sure that Lancelot and Guinevere have at least one night together, you know. If I’m remembering my _de Troyes_ correctly.”

“One night? A lion could never be satisfied with one night. What sort of insipid creature was Lancelot that he could be satisfied with a single night?”

Caroline laughed merrily. “Now that I know something of the variety possible in lovemaking, I have to agree.”

“Ah, madam, we have barely scratched the surface.” James moved up over her and settled himself onto her soft form as she stretched under him. “But as I was thinking when you woke, there is also much to be said for simplicity.” He reached down and guided his tip between the lips of her soft purse. “Sometimes, the tried and tested is the best.” He tightened his hips and buttocks and pushed slowly into her. Caroline spread her legs, moaning with pleasure at his measured penetration. “Wouldn’t you agree, my dove?”

“Yes, oh, yes, James. That feels delicious. So delicious.”

James nipped at her satiny throat as she exposed it to him, tipping her head back. He surged in and out of her, keeping his pace slow to build up their mutual delight in tiny increments. His slow, heavy rocking shook the bed, and the wooden frame added its voice to their symphony of gasps, groans and laboured breaths.

When he felt her passage grasping at him, the first flutters running through her stomach and thighs, James slowed his strokes. Kissing away her protests, he held them at low ebb, their bodies locked together. James rolled his hips, keeping himself hard, her wet and wanting, while he lapped and licked and nibbled at her mouth. She writhed beneath him, as wanton as he often named her, rubbing her silken legs all over the outsides of his, digging her toes into the backs of his calves and thighs, grasping desperately at his back. He held her as long as he could, enjoying their deep, pulsing connection, her soft whimpers of wanting, until he could no longer bear the tension. Then he drove them both up and over the peak with hard, sure strokes. Not hurrying, not dallying. A measured, mad beat that had Caroline screaming with pleasure and James groaning so loudly he was sure her servants would be banging down the door before he finished.

They came together, Caroline sobbing into his mouth as he surged again and again within her, and James knew for one moment absolutely perfect peace. The stilling of everything in the maelstrom that was his life. His heart and breath and body held suspended for one perfect moment. Then he poured himself into her, a release that came from his innermost depths, untouched in all the years since he’d left England, and left him empty, cleansed but shaking.

He rolled onto his side. Caroline followed him naturally, curling into his chest, and offering her hand when he reached for it. Instead of lacing their fingers together, he drew her arm around his ribs. Then he found her other hand and drew it around his neck.

“James?” she whispered.

“You bring out the best in me, madam,” he murmured to her. “You truly do. You give me moments undreamt of. But my demons are not so easily exorcised. You will need to hold me very, very tight, and not release me until I tell you.”

She pressed into him, locking her arms around him, and James relaxed utterly into her hold. He closed his eyes, felt the prickle of wetness there, and turned his face into her hair so that soft mass would soak up any tears.

He fell asleep like that, he realised when he woke to her maid’s knock, his eyes crusted with salt, his neck kinked from sleeping on her arm. Caroline was still knotted around him, although he’d rolled onto his back. She lay on his chest, and while James’s lungs felt somewhat constricted by her limp weight, he relished it.

 _She didn’t let me go_ , he thought.

He ran his hands down her back and gently woke her.

*

When he joined Caroline at the breakfast table, James was relieved to see that the dishes had been reduced to a more manageable number. He nodded at the scrambled eggs, toast, smoked salmon and porridge, and waited while Caroline served him.

Neither of them spoke about the intensity of their morning lovemaking, or of his request and her compliance afterwards, but James felt a fission that bloomed between them with every glance, every touch. It was a bond, like their initial attraction, but deeper – an inchoate understanding, a binding current – different still from what he’d shared with his sister. It drew no shadows over his soul. He felt anchored, grounded, in a way he never had before, but still warm and light and clean.

“Mrs. Singh seems assured of my survival,” he said, reaching for something inconsequential to say.

Caroline smiled as she poured them both coffee. “I did have to persuade her. She calls you _baghi’ara_. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, since I’m not very good with their language, but she seems to think you’re very hungry. She’s baking ginger biscuits. Huge quantities. She has dozens of tins lying around the kitchen that she’s filling. She’s made me promise to pack them all and ensure you have some biscuits every day to stave off starvation.”

James chuckled. “They are excellent.”

“I do hope you like them. You could open a shop in Calais with all of the biscuits she’s made. It would take you a month to sell them.”

“We could replace the sailors’ daily ration of grog with a ration of ginger biscuits. They would be unhappily sober, but very fat, by the time we reach Nootka.”

Caroline giggled. “I’m still not sure you’d get through them all. You could trade them to the Nootka Indians. Safer than gunpowder.”

“Not at all. Just think what would happen when my supply is finally exhausted? With no Mrs. Singh, I could not produce more, and since you’ve liberated the woman, no ability to get more. It would be an international incident, madam. All caused by ginger biscuits.”

Caroline’s laughter was brighter than the morning sunshine. “The Ginger Biscuit Crisis.”

James joined her laughter. They broke off at a tap on the door. Caroline looked enquiringly at James.

“It is your house, madam,” he said softly.

She smiled shyly. “You are master here.”

James saluted her with his coffee cup. “Come,” he called.

Maria opened the door and curtseyed as she entered. She carried a little silver tray, piled high with letters. “All these came special post this morning, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Maria. Just set them there.” Caroline nodded at her writing desk. “I’ll read them after breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Singh asked me to tell you she’s packed a picnic for you to take with you today when you sail. She’s made fried chicken and her special salad and all nice things. And ginger biscuits for Mr. Delaney.”

James could not control a bark of laughter; he smothered it in his coffee cup.

“That’s very good, Maria. Please give Mrs. Singh my thanks and ask her to pack another two dozen biscuits, so I might share them with the crew.”

Maria smiled broadly and dipped a curtsey. “Yes, ma’am.” She retreated and closed the door behind her.

“Not so reassured after all.” James chuckled.

“For a starving man, you look very well, I must say.”

“Thank you, madam.” James piled smoked salmon onto the buttered toast and set in with relish. All the talk of picnics and ginger biscuits was giving him an appetite. “Do you not want to see to your letters? There’s quite a pile there.”

“One more than expected,” Caroline said, glancing at the pile. “I do wonder what that’s about.”

“You expected a flurry of post?”

Caroline nodded as she took delicate bites of egg and toast. “Responses to my dinner party invitations. I’m hopeful they will mostly be acceptances, but there may be a rejection or two. Lady Cowper, in particular, will likely decline. But I was afraid she’d feel it an insult if I didn’t invite her.”

“If she is your great friend, why will she decline? Because of me?”

“Mmm, her delicate reputation, and she almost never attends anything that her lover, Lord Palmerston, is not also invited to, and I did not invite him.”

“Why not?”

Caroline shrugged. “I did not invite any gentlemen. I do not care for their company and I did not want there to be any awkwardness for you.”

“For me? How would there be awkwardness for me, sweet?”

“You’ve said you have a profligate past. I would not want you to come face to face with the husband or lover of one of your old paramours. That could be awkward and more than awkward. I wouldn’t want you to be challenged to another duel.”

“Particularly when we cannot ensure there’s another Company cove to load the pistol,” James said.

“Did you know about him before you accepted the duel?”

James shook his head. “But I thought it unlikely that Crown and Company would leave it to chance.”

“James, would you have shot your sister’s husband?” Caroline looked at him closely over the rim of her cup.

“No, madam. I did not even level my pistol until after he’d fired. I intended to take the bullet, so that he would have his satisfaction and that would be the end of it.”

“What if he’d killed you?!”

James shrugged. “Then I would have been sorry to miss our appointment. Even if there had been a ball in his pistol, he wouldn’t have killed me. He aimed too high, a common fault of British soldiers who are used to firing muskets rather than pistols. I’ve seen it before.”

Caroline shook her head at him. “James, I can’t believe you left your life to such a slim chance.”

“What would you have had me do, madam? Refuse his challenge? I’m no coward. Shoot my sister’s husband? I’ve nothing against the man. My choices were limited, so I chose to take the bullet.”

Caroline held her hand out across the table. James took it in his and squeezed her fingers.

“You’re the bravest, boldest, most amazing man I’ve ever known,” she said quietly, before returning to her breakfast.

James smiled at her bent head before returning to his own.

 

*

They reached Wapping Wall in Caroline’s sleek phaeton by late morning, well before the turning of the tide. The skeleton crew was already at work, and other than making sure that there were enough men to rig the sails, and that they would be ready when the tide turned, James left them to their duties.

He joined Caroline, who was inspecting lines close to the wheel. He cast her an assessing glance as she recoiled a line over a cleat. Moving up behind her, he ran his gloved fingers down the soft arch of her neck, exposed by her simply plaited hair. “Your gloves are too fine for that work, madam. You’ll ruin them. Nor would I want you to think that malingering near the wheel will translate into an opportunity for you to steer. Cabin boys do not steer the ship.”

She leaned into his caress. “You are Captain here, sir,” she murmured. “I would never presume to usurp your prerogative. Only to ensure that there is appropriate crewage, if the Captain needs to hand over the wheel for a moment, if he needs to go to the necessary or something like. And do not fear for my gloves. I have many pairs and do not mind sacrificing these to ensure your lovely lady is ship-shape.”

“You are my lovely lady,” James whispered, bending close to her ear. “My mistress and my darling.”

“Oh, James,” she cooed.

“But.” He held up a finger. “Seeing my _Gyata_ this morning, in the fullness of her beauty, all thoughts of other ladies have fled my mind. You will have to be content as an afterthought, my dear, as my ship is a jealous mistress.”

“James.” She turned and her eyes flickered with an emotion James couldn’t read. Then she grinned and swatted his shoulder. “You terrible man.”

James chuckled and took her in his arms. “Shall we scandalise my crew? Kiss me, Caroline.”

“James,” she protested softly, but she swept off his hat, shielded their faces with the brim, stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

He crushed her to his chest and took a lingering taste of her mouth. She pressed against him and responded as enthusiastically as if they’d been naked in her bed. James immediately wished they were.

When she dropped back onto her heels, he grinned and whispered to her, “We’re far from your bed again, madam.”

Eyes glowing with mischief, Caroline looked up at him. “True, sir.”

“But I believe you promised that you would risk discovery by my crew, if I required satisfaction.”

“James,” she breathed.

“I may require it before our day is through, Caroline. Ready yourself.”

She gave a little shiver and James knew it was with excitement, and that state of semi-arousal would carry her through the cruise, and make her more than ready for him when he next claimed her, without tormenting her the way their too-stimulating horseback ride had.

Whistling a seafaring tune, James released her and went to test the play of the wheel.

*

The _Gyata_ proved as brisk and manoeuvrable a schooner as James had ever sailed. He took the ship out on the ebb tide, with the good current making up for a light, changeable wind. The river itself, while sparkling in the mid-day sunlight, was a sullen brown, and James felt a longing for clear blue, southern seas that surprised him, since he’d been brought up on the Thames and always thought of it as home.

Once they were underway, the creak of the ship’s wood and the snap of the sails brought back grim memories, but the bracing breeze and Caroline’s sunny smile quickly chased them away. James felt the rhythms of life aboard ship sink into his bones again. It was a muscle-memory, living under sail. Moving with the swell of the waves, checking the lines, keeping an eye out for the little cargo barges which displayed a reckless disregard for his larger vessel. His body quickly remembered, and that memory translated into a sense of homecoming.

 _Once a sailor, always a sailor_ , James thought.

Caroline seemed to have the same memories, easily navigating the rolling deck, despite her skirts. _She’s more of a sailor than I gave her credit for_ , James thought, watching her. She stopped amidships to have a word with one of Atticus’s scallywags. The sailor, his travels colourfully tattooed into his arms and neck, whipped his knit skullcap off his head when Caroline addressed him and stood twisting it between his hands as he answered her questions. When Caroline pointed at the jib, the sailor followed her hand and nodded eagerly. He tugged his forelock before bowing to her, planting his cap back on his remaining grey strands, and trotting off towards the foremast.

When Caroline came to stand beside him at the wheel, James asked, “What was that all about, madam?”

“The lowermost jib stay is cracked. I asked your bonny crewman to fetch it and said I’d see to its replacement on our return.”

“Are repairs to my ship now within your purview?”

Caroline glanced at him anxiously, then gave him a wry smile. “I can see from the wicked glint in your eye that, whether they are or not, you’re going to tease me about overstepping my prerogative. How many strokes will that be, Captain?”

“Five for overstepping your prerogative and five more for your cheek. Would you like them now, in front of the crew?”

Caroline blushed prettily, but lifted her chin in the air. “I will accept my punishment whenever and wherever the Captain dictates.”

“Later, then, when we are private and I can use my belt on you.”

Caroline shivered and looked out to the horizon and for a moment, James feared he’d finally gone too far. _I’ve frightened her. I pushed her too hard last night and it’s scared her. Or the belt’s reminded her of the lecher’s abuse._ He opened his mouth to reassure her. Then she looked back at him with unmistakeable heat in her eye. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

James felt his nostrils flare with excitement. “Oh, I will. And the longer the chase goes on, madam, the more _exacting_ your punishment will be.”

She gave a saucy toss of her bonneted head. “My bottom can take anything you can dish out.”

“We’ll see about that,” James promised. “Oh, we shall see about that.”

*

They laid up at Gravesend for the turn of the tide and lunched on Mrs. Singh’s lavish picnic. Although James was more familiar with African spices than Indian, he immediately appreciated the excellence of her curried salad, enriched with sultanas, dried apricots and crunchy fried walnuts.

“You have made a grave, grave error, madam,” he told Caroline as he lounged beside her on a plaid blanket she’d spread on the quarterdeck so they could enjoy their luncheon in the warm afternoon sun. He ate another forkful of the curried salad and washed it down with tart apple cider Mrs. Singh had provided, which complemented the salad perfectly.

Caroline tilted her face to the sun, looking wholly unconcerned by his criticism. “Yes, what it that?”

“You’ve freed the woman who could have made your fortune. Mrs. Singh should be cooking for princes and kings.”

Caroline stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles, her highly polished ankle boots gleaming in the sunlight. She took a rosy-red apple out of one of the hampers and bit into it, crunching the crisp flesh with evident relish. “She is cooking for a sort of royalty, my Prince of Lions,” Caroline said. “So that should satisfy you. As for Mrs. Singh, she doesn’t actually enjoy cooking in quantity, as she would have to if she served in a larger household. I’ve hired two of her cousins to help her for the party tonight, and given her tomorrow off to recover while another cousin staffs the kitchen. She quite exhausts herself when she’s cooking for a company. She’s such a perfectionist, she frets over every dish. She’d work herself into nervous exhaustion if she served a larger family.”

James chuckled. “Ah, the frailty of genius.”

“Mmm, that’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

“Me?” James raised an eyebrow at her. “My ability to recognise genius? You’re referring to Cholmondeley, I suppose?”

“No, although I understand he is quite brilliant. I’m referring to you. Your genius seems to be without any of the frailty that does so often accompany an expansive intellect.”

James laughed, tickled that she thought him a genius. “My fond madam, I assure you I am quite without genius. Although I’ll allow that I have my moments. And while I am unbeset by any physical malady, I am, as anyone will tell you, quite mad.”

Caroline snorted. “You are, sir, one of the more sane souls I have met in this demented city. Besides, ‘great wits are to madness near allied, thin partitions do their bounds divide.’”

“Milton?” James asked, not recognising the quote.

“Dryden. He does not quite rise to Mr. Blake’s heights, but I do quite like his longer poems. Shall I bring some with me?”

“I would be pleased to listen to anything you would like to read to me. I was sorry to have to forgo our reading last night. We will set aside some time tonight after your dinner party to advance our understanding of either Satan’s plans or Mr. Blake’s experiences, whichever you prefer.”

Caroline grinned. “I brought Mr. Blake with me if you’d like to hear some now while we wait for the tide to turn.”

“I would, indeed.”

When she finished her apple, Caroline scooted over to the enormous reticule she’d packed and fished the little leather-bound volume from its depths. Hearing a distinctive rattle as she rooted through the bag, James reached across and caught the handle of the bag and attempted to peer within. There ensued a short tug of war, which Caroline won by dint of kicking him in the shin.

“Madam!”

She clasped the reticule to her chest with such a look of defiance that James relented. He sat back on the rumpled blanket.

“You brought your pistol,” he said heavily.

“You said we were in the company of scallywags and villains,” Caroline hissed, with a glance at those scallywags and villains, most of whom were lounging on the deck, enjoying their biscuits.

“I am armed, madam. I am always armed. I would not let any harm come to you.”

“I know that. Understand that I feel the same way. I don’t want any harm to come to you, and since you won’t teach me how to use a blade, I packed my pistol.”

“You are wholly incorrigible, Caroline. What am I to do with you?”

She pouted, really rather adorably, James thought, which wiped away any lingering irritation. He propped himself against the rail and patted his thigh. “Come, sit here and read to me. Since I don’t seem to be able to control your wholesale wilfulness, I might as well enjoy it. I warn you, though, you will suffer for it later.”

“Neither I nor my bottom is afraid of you, sir,” she muttered rebelliously, but she came and nestled against him. Together, they sat in the warm sun and enjoyed Mr. Blake’s poetry, enlivened by the occasional ginger biscuit, until the shifting of the ship against its anchor heralded the turn of the tide.

*

The sail back, with the current but against a fickle wind, was more technical and difficult than the sail out, and James came to appreciate the true extent of Caroline’s seamanship. While he wrestled the wheel, tacking back and forth, she went forward and directed the rigging. Atticus’s sailors, at first bewildered by the fine lady on the arm of the Devil Delaney, then bewitched by the gracious mistress who had shown such culinary largess, were wholly bemused by the bonneted termagant who dared give them orders. Chuckling, James watched, as, with many glances in his direction, they followed her instructions.

Even the most hardened scallywag among them had to admire Caroline’s precision, though, as they skated up the Thames, dead to the middle of the river, where the flow was fastest. When James heard Caroline shouting at the sailors to raise the flying jib, he realised she was anticipating the bend at Limehouse Reach, where the river’s flow would have dug out a deeper channel and the extra canvas would maximise their speed.

They returned to Wapping Wall a full hour faster than their outbound journey. Once they’d moored up, James led the crew in a cheer for Caroline, and while she blushed and demurred at their compliments, he took a small knife out of his boot. When the crew had returned to their duties, he kneeled and presented it to her. She took it from him gingerly, her eyes huge and luminous with the afternoon sun as she looked down at him.

“Every sailor must know how to use a blade, madam.” He turned the knife in her hands and curled her gloved fingers around the ivory handle. “Your first lesson. Hold it like this.”

“Oh, James, thank you.”

He stood and swept her up into his arms, careful that she didn’t stick him accidentally. “How did I find a mistress who is happier receiving an old knife than diamonds?”

Caroline smiled brilliantly at him. “I would never say no to diamonds, but my first blade is a far greater treasure.”

*

They parted at Chamber House, where they’d left Caroline’s phaeton and James’s horse. She, to return to her townhouse to oversee the final preparations for the dinner party; he, to the hospital and then to the Dolphin to make arrangements for the fake funeral. Although James intended to join her at her townhouse within a few hours, he felt a twinge at being parted from her, and so did not object when she clung to him. He held her, and kissed the soft, cool shell of her ear left exposed by her coiled plait, while her bonnet hid them from the street and his back hid them from the house.

She smoothed her gloved palm down his cheek and James felt the slight roughness the ropes had left behind. “Tell Atticus he will face me if he delays you,” she warned, but James heard the little hitch in her voice that belayed her anxiety.

“I will, and I trust that will put the frighteners on him, particularly after the manner in which you terrorised his crew.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Was I too brusque?”

“Not at all. I think they were just surprised by your masterfulness. The legend of Black Caroline will have spread far along Wapping Wall by dawn.”

“I would so liked to have been a pirate.” She smiled and turned her face up to his for a kiss. “Thank you again for my knife. Is there anything you’d like ready when you arrive home?”

James almost corrected her, but he didn’t want to unsettle her when they were about to part. Besides, her house felt like home. “If Mr. Singh has time to shave me, I would be most appreciative. But I don’t want to overburden the man if he has much to do to prepare for your guests. A razor and a mirror are all I truly require. I would like to be presentable for your friends.”

“He’ll have time. It’s poor Mrs. Singh and Maria who run around like headless chickens before a party. You’ll see. Everything has to be perfect. They’re very house-proud.”

James chuckled at her servants’ diligence. “I’m sure all will go well.”

“Oh, it will.” She stroked his cheek again. “Honestly, my friends don’t care about ironed napkins and whether the soup is garnished with melons or herbs. We’ll be a gay party tonight. Without any gentlemen, my friends are very merry.”

“No gentlemen?” James asked. “Do you intend to unman me before the party?”

“You’re very silly, James. You’ll see how quickly we ladies forget your manly parts and include you as though you were one of us. We’ll have a pleasant evening and then we will retire to our bed and I’ll pleasure my lordly lion in any way he desires.”

“You will, eh?” James felt heat rush to his groin at the thought. _How can I possibly want you again, linnet?_ He wondered. _I’ve had you nearly a dozen times in as many hours, and yet I still burn at the mere suggestion of having you again. Yet it is nothing like the witchery Zilpha cast over me with those damned ‘come-hither’ glances of hers. That was the sick, dizzying burn of madness. This is the clean burn of a forge_. “I anticipate this evening with delight.”

Caroline gave him a sunny smile and it was on that smile that they parted.

*

Her American colleague had no smile for him when James found him in the cellars of St. Bartholomew’s, but had the cholera posters prepared, so James cared little for the spy’s humour and nothing for his jibes. Atticus, on the other hand, was all smiles when James found him at the Dolphin, although Atticus’s smiles were substantially less sunny than Caroline’s. With his dead eye-tooth, the old sailor’s smiles were almost moribund, a thought that had James chuckling as he made his way through the early evening crowd of drinkers and ruffians filling the tavern.

Atticus was conferring with the heavily-bearded French Bill when James arrived. The man had lurked about the ship during the sail, doing and saying very little. James realised that French Bill was Atticus’s eyes and ears on the _Gyata_.

“I ‘ear you got a comely first mate,” Atticus said as James sat down across from him at a plank table.

“I’ve told you before, Atticus, keep your mind off Mrs. Grant. That goes for you, too, and any who wish to sail aboard my ship.” James tipped his head at French Bill, who stepped back into the shadows.

“Bill says she’s shipwise,” Atticus offered.

“Whatever she is is by-the-by. We have business. The powder will be ready to move tomorrow night. I need seven coffins, three carts, three pairs of horses and mourning costumes for nine. The coffins must be bare wood. No exposed flame on the carts. Understood?”

Atticus picked up his spectacles and perched them on the end of his nose. Then he slid a scrap of foolscap and a quill onto the table between them and wrote in his indecipherable scrawl.

“And find me a warm coat for a boy of ten.” James tapped the paper with his forefinger. “Atticus, I can’t tell if that says what I’ve just told you or the ingredients for chicken soup,” he complained.

“Don’t worry, me boy. I’ll have everything ready. When do we meet at the farm?”

“Nine. We need time to fill the coffins. We deliver at St. Bartholomew’s at midnight.”

Atticus nodded. “Sign here.”

James signed, still not knowing if he was signing an order for the fake funeral, a soup recipe or a writ of conscription into the bloody Royal Navy.

“How’d she go?” Atticus asked.

“How did who go?”

“The ship. What’d you call her? Somethin’ foreign.”

“The _Gyata_. She handled well, although she’s light without cargo or guns. Before we take to heavy seas, we need to provision her with cannon. That’s your task in Calais while I go to Paris and secure us safe passage.”

“You want me to buy cannons from the Frenchies? I don’t suppose it’s escaped your notice that we’re at war with the buggers?”

“The Americans aren’t, and we’ll be flying under their colours. Get it done, Atticus.”

The old sailor rolled his tongue over his teeth and shrugged. “Guess I still know a few smugglers and the like on that side of the Channel who might have a cannon or two to spare. It’ll cost you, mind.”

“You have fifteen pounds,” James said, keeping his expression deadpan. “Make sure there’s salt beef in the ship’s provisions.”

Atticus raised a meaty palm. “I know, I know, you don’t eat pork. I’ve already told my sister you’re right fussy. Hope you favour fish, ‘cause other than pork, that’s all she knows how to cook.”

“From feast to famine,” James grumbled. “At least there will be plenty of ginger biscuits.”

“These?” Atticus fished in one of the pockets of his coat and produced a familiar-looking biscuit. “Bill brought me one. Any good?”

“Excellent.” While Atticus took a wary sniff, James prompted, “Anything else? I have an engagement.”

Atticus lifted an eyebrow over the rim of his spectacles. “With a certain lady?”

“None of your business, Atticus. Is there anything else?”

“Reward for information about the robbery’s gone up. Ten pound from the Crown, five and twenty from the Company. Makes a man think them’s at Carlton House don’t really care one way or t’other about catching those who did it.”

James grunted. “That man would be right. The Crown’s far more interested in using the loss of the saltpetre to choke John Company. Make sure your men know that if Company men come knocking, they’ve no jurisdiction, so their threats are hollow. Any man who whispers in the Company’s ear will answer to me.”

Atticus nodded. “No one’ll forget that any time soon.”

“Good.” James shrugged off the grim business of cutting off a man’s thumb. It had been, as he’d once told Helga, a necessary evil. “ _Now_ are we done?”

“Aye. You thinkin’ of taking another sail tomorrow?”

“No, why?” James tugged on his gloves and settled his greatcoat around him as he prepared to go.

Atticus inspected the ginger biscuit. “Men are askin’ when they might ‘ave more biscuits.”

“I’ll have some sent to the docks.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ I might make closer acquaintance of your first mate. Show her ‘round the ship like.”

“Atticus!”

The sailor held up his hands innocently. “Man can’t know his ship too well.”

“She’s my ship. I know her inside and out. You need neither know her, nor Mrs. Grant, any better. I will see you at the farm at nine. Don’t be late.”

“Won’t be,” Atticus said with a wicked grin. “I value me thumbs.”


	14. Chapter 14

James reached the Harley Street townhouse a few minutes before seven, and found Thomas the groom waiting for him on the drive. The dinner party wasn’t supposed to begin for another hour, but Caroline had warned him that her friends might arrive early, and James knew that he was cutting things a bit fine.

“Have any of Mrs. Grant’s guests arrived?” he asked Thomas as the lanky lad took his gelding’s reigns.

“No, sir, but there’s a bit of a to-do upstairs.” The youth pulled a long face. “I’m staying out of it, me.”

James grunted and headed up the front steps. Mr. Singh did not open the door when James reached the top step. He knocked and waited and after a few moments, a young Indian girl in a stained apron opened the door. She dropped him a quick curtsey and gestured at the main staircase. “Mrs. Grant’s expecting you, sir. She’s upstairs and Mr. Singh’s in the sitting room.”

“Thank you,” James told her. She didn’t offer to take his coat and hat, but curtseyed again quickly and made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen.

Bemused by this unusual reception, James made this way upstairs and knocked on Caroline’s bedroom door.

“Please come in,” Caroline called.

James opened the door and batted at the swirl of moist, powder-laden air that billowed out and rushed straight up his nose. He peered into Caroline’s bedroom through a cloud of powder so thick it was a blizzard.

“Caroline?” he asked, not seeing his mistress.

“Oh, James, I’m glad you’ve arrived. Can you help me? This window’s stuck.”

He followed the sound of her voice through the snowstorm and found her at the window on the far side of his clothes horse. She was tugging at the window’s brass handles. James banged several spots on the frame to loosen it, then lifted the sash. Crisp evening air lifted the watered silk curtains.

As the fresh air dispersed the worst of the blizzard, James turned to look at his mistress. “Has there been a mishap?” he asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “You could say that.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” came a wail from the other side of the room.

“Maria, honestly, it’s fine. Please go help Mrs. Singh.”

“I’m not finished your hair!” the girl objected.

“I’ll see to it. Please, Maria, I’m fine now. You don’t want Mrs. Singh to get herself in a flap, do you?”

“No, ma’am!” The girl fled in a powdery swirl.

“Thank goodness for that,” Caroline muttered. “Would you mind, James? She hadn’t finished the buttons, either, but my patience is at an end.” Caroline turned and lifted her hair, so James could see her partially buttoned back.

He dropped a kiss on her bare nape, then stripped off his gloves and buttoned up the rest of the little pearl buttons on her champagne-coloured, silk evening gown. Cupping her shoulders in his hands, he turned her to face him. Her skin looked strangely floury, even through the dispersing blizzard. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek and held up one powder-coated digit. “What’s all this?”

“My maid’s sincere, if misguided, attempt to restore my complexion.” She coughed delicately. “I caught a little sun during our sail today and she was most distressed by my redness. I don’t usually use powder, and I haven’t used this particular powder before, and when she tried to powder me, I’m afraid I sneezed, and, well, here we are.” She held out her hands to indicate the particulate-laden air.

“You sneezed?” James asked, sucking on his cheeks to keep a blank face.

“Yes.” Caroline moved away from him, around her bed and to her washstand. James followed her. She wet a cloth and began wiping her face. “I sneezed. Rather forcefully, and unfortunately directly into the box of powder. Which went everywhere.”

James inspected her skin as she revealed it. The bridge of her patrician nose and her cheekbones were quite pink, but not blistered. James thought the high colour against her pale gown was very becoming.

“So all this.” James waved a hand in the clearing air. “Is from your sneeze?”

“As I said,” Caroline replied, a little crossly.

“An extremely forceful sneeze, I would say,” he observed.

Caroline shrugged.

“So,” James continued. “I see I must fear both your fore and aft cannon.”

“James!” She spun and threw the washcloth at him. He caught it and doubled over as he roared with laughter. “James, it isn’t funny!”

“Oh, it is,” he said, wiping at his eyes with the washcloth. Probably leaving smears of powder, but James didn’t care. He continued to laugh. “You are such a sweet little thing in the middle, but so fearsome at both ends!”

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him, which only made James laugh harder. Finally, she unbent and laughed with him. James caught her up in his arms and kissed her powder-streaked cheeks. “My dove, you are such a delight.”

“While you, sir, are nothing but a torment.” She kissed him, then wiped at his face with her thumbs. “Oh, I’m getting powder all over you.”

“Happily, I do not suffer your sensitivities, and Mr. Singh will wash my face in a moment when he shaves me. Give me one more kiss, Caroline, and I will go through to him.”

She smiled up at him sunnily and gave him a deep kiss. “You do make me laugh, James. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

He kissed the tip of her reddened nose. “It is you who bring me more light and laughter than I have known in years. You look lovely, my linnet, but you may want to wipe off the rest of the powder and put your hair up.”

Caroline stepped back and took the washcloth from him. She rinsed it out and wiped her face until her skin was clean and glowing. “There. Better?” At his nod, she put down the washcloth and picked up a handful of hairpins. “Do you really want my hair up? I thought you preferred it down.”

“I do, but won’t it invite comment?”

Caroline shrugged. “It’s my house and my dinner party and my lover who wants to see my hair unbound. The ladies here tonight are my friends and not in the habit of spreading scandalous gossip, but even if they do, I leave for Paris in a few days on my lover’s ship. The scandal of my unbound hair hardly compares to that.” As she spoke, she pinned up the sides, letting the long curls tumble down her back.

James chuckled. “True. I will enjoy seeing my lioness’s mane all night, and knowing that at the end of it, I will enjoy the feeling of it in my hands and on my skin as well.”

Caroline shivered. “That is something to look forward to, if tonight gets dull or trying.”

“You promised me a merry party. Best you deliver, madam.”

“Or?” she asked archly.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I believe you are already due ten strokes of my belt. Shall we make it twenty?”

A harder shiver moved her shoulders against the wide neckline of her silk gown. James tracked her movement avidly, then his eyes slid down to where the points of her nipples were visible against the champagne-coloured silk. _Oh, the advantages of a mistress who doesn’t wear a corset_ , James thought. The idea of her nakedness under her fashionable dress, of her soft skin caressed by the heavy silk, made James achingly hard. _I cannot toss her over the edge of the bed now. If I’m in the middle of fucking her when her guests arrive, she’ll never forgive me_.

“James,” she breathed, looking up into his eyes. He was sure she could see his thoughts, or at the very least, his arousal.

“Vixen,” he growled. “You’ll send me into a roomful of women with a full cockstand. That’s twenty-five, I believe. You won’t be able to sit down for a week. Behave yourself.”

Caroline gave him a heavy-lidded smile. “Can I reduce the number of strokes by making my lion roar with pleasure while I palm his bawbels? I’m told I have a soft touch.”

James did roar at her then. Caroline squeaked, picked up her skirts and ran around to the other side of the bed. She peered at him through the gauze hangings. “May I take that as a _yes_?” she asked saucily.

“You won’t sit down for a month,” he growled at her. “I’m going to have Mr. Singh shave me while _I_ can still sit down. If you are in the same insolent mood when I return, I’ll toss your pretty skirts over your head and give you five strokes before we go down to your guests so you can sit on a sore arse all night. Perhaps that will help you recall your manners.”

She gave him a deep curtsey, somewhat ruined by the incredible mischief in her eyes. James raised his forefinger at her as he moved to the adjoining door.

“Behave,” he told her, opening the door.

She stuck her little pink tongue out at him, and with phenomenal cheek, curled it. He levelled his finger and shook it. “You’ll pay,” he mouthed at her. Then he turned his back on his saucy mistress and passed through into the sitting room.

There, he found that Mr. Singh had set a chair and table in front of the fire, and had several bowls, towels, a leather wallet of shaving implements and little glass pots laid out on the table. The Sikh bowed to James, and James bowed back before taking the proffered chair. The Sikh took his hat and coat, wrapped a towel around his neck and picked up a silver dish of shaving soap and a brush.

“Cold lather or hot, sir?” The Sikh asked. “Cold provides a better shave but I appreciate it is less pleasant.”

“I’ll endure the cold for a good shave,” James replied.

The Sikh mixed the lather efficiently and applied it to James’s face, then carefully drew the razor over his cheek and down his neck. “Do you want me to leave any at the sides, sir?”

“No, side whiskers hold no appeal for me.”

“Very good, sir.” The Sikh applied the razor in smooth strokes. “If I may be so bold, sir, a little shaping under your chin would make your jaw stronger.”

James lifted his chin. “A man can never have too strong a jaw.”

The Sikh chuckled as he trimmed James’s beard. “Never, sir. Particularly in a room full of ladies.”

“Society ladies do admire a lantern jaw,” James concurred. “Perhaps we can discuss the virtues of my jaw over the soup course. I cannot think of what else we might talk about.”

The Sikh gave another chuckle. “Don’t worry about that, sir. There will be no shortage of conversation tonight. Indeed, by midnight you will wish for a great deal less conversation.”

“Midnight,” James grumbled. He hadn’t thought the dinner would go on so long. “You’ll make sure we run out of wine by eleven? There’s a good man.”

“I couldn’t, sir. But I recommend calling for the liqueur tray when pudding is served. Mr. Grant was a collector of Continental liqueurs and several of the ladies cannot resist a glass of the _rosa solis_ or one of the other golden waters. That may shorten the evening, and if not shorten it, certainly enliven it.”

James chuckled through his nose, careful not to move his jaw or throat while the Sikh was wielding a razor over his skin. When Mr. Singh finished, he brushed James’s hair, smoothed the balsam oil over James’s well-trimmed beard and moustache, then held up the mirror so James could inspect the job.

“Excellent, Mr. Singh. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to be of service.” The Sikh cast his eyes down as he tidied away the shaving equipment. “Good luck tonight, sir.”

“Will I need it?”

The Sikh nodded his turbaned head. “Any time a man goes alone into a gathering of ladies, he needs a great deal of luck.”

James nodded ruefully.

“Perhaps this will bring you some.” The Sikh handed James a small box. “Mrs. Grant wanted you to have it for tonight.”

James opened the box and removed a cravat pin nestled in black velvet. He turned it in his fingers so the sapphire set in a plain gold disc caught the firelight. “This is very handsome,” he said. “Did you select it?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Grant sent me for it, but she’d seen it at a jewellers called Thomas Grey.”

 _Where we bought her pearls. An extravagant gesture_ , James thought. _What exactly does she mean by it?_

“May I offer you any further assistance, sir?” Mr. Singh asked.

“No, thank you. Please give your wife my warmest compliments for the excellent luncheon. Her ginger biscuits were much admired by the crew. If she has any to spare, I’d like to send some to the docks tomorrow to keep their spirits up as they finish the refitting. And I’m looking forward to tonight’s dinner. I know the food will be superb, so perhaps that will compensate for the unending chatter.”

Smiling, the Sikh bowed; James bowed back and returned to Caroline’s bedroom.

Caroline was standing by his clothes horse, running her fingertips over the lapels of the coat hanging on one arm. James came up to stand behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and held the pin in front of her with the other. “Thank you for my gift, madam,” he whispered into her ear.

She leaned back against him. “You’re most welcome. I know you don’t usually wear a cravat, but I thought you might tonight, and you’d need a pin for it.”

“I will wear a necktie every day from now on, just so I can wear my pin. Why a sapphire?”

“It reminded me of the ocean.”

James nuzzled behind her ear, where her hair fell free. “I was thinking today when we sailed of warm blue waters. Do you swim, Caroline? Are you a sea lion, as well, my lioness?”

She curved her arm back and stroked his head. “I’m not as proficient in the water as I am on a horse, but I do know how to swim.”

“When we reach those southern waters, I will take you swimming every day, until you are as swift and sleek as one of the silver fish that swim alongside our ship.”

“Mmm.” Caroline hummed her pleasure. “James?”

“Yes, my generous darling?”

“Will you take me in the water?”

“I just said I—” Her actual meaning hit him and James gave her a squeeze for her boldness. “I just got rid of one cockstand, madam. You will not give me another with which to greet your guests.”

She laughed throatily.

“Absent yourself, hoyden, while I dress.”

She twisted and pouted at him. “It’s my bedroom.”

“It’s my cock. Of which you’ve made rather too much use lately. I’ll not have you inciting it again until you are in a position to satisfy it.”

“We could—” she began.

“No,” he cut her off with a groan. It was too tempting to hear that she’d allow him to take her while her guests were arriving. “Go down and let me dress in peace.”

Her pout deepened. “Mayn’t I stay to watch? I promise I’ll behave. I love watching you move.”

James relented immediately. Easily. Because he loved having her watch him. And because, like her doting husband, he wanted to deny her nothing. “Sit on the bed.”

She did so, gracefully managing her evening gown’s skirts. She tucked her satin-slippered feet beneath the bed’s bottom rail and clasped her hands together. She would have looked like an innocent school-girl awaiting her lessons if it hadn’t been for the wicked light in her eyes.

James shrugged out of the utilitarian coat and weskit he’d worn for the day, folded them and set them on the clothes horse. Before removing his shirt, he gave Caroline a hard glance to fix her in place. She smiled sweetly in return.

He pulled the shirt off over his head, and felt her hands slide around his waist before he was even free of the linen. Her warm, moist little mouth pressed against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. She breathed onto his skin before kissing her way across to his shoulder.

“How is this behaving, madam?” he growled at her, although he put his hand over hers at his waist to hold her to him.

“I couldn’t resist. You’re so beautiful, James. I bought that sapphire to match the blue of your eyes, in truth. But I should have bought you amber, to match the gold of your skin.” She took a mouthful, nipping with her little teeth, before kissing away the sting. “There’s never been so rich and warm a colour.”

 _She adores instead of desires_. James felt flushed to his bones with the warmth of her adoration, but thankfully it touched his heart instead of his groin.

“I am very happy with my sapphire, sweet. And very happy with your appreciation. Tonight, after your friends are gone, after I discipline you for your shocking insolence while under my command today, you may show your appreciation for every inch of my skin. In fact, I demand you do so. But for now, I demand you cover it with a shirt.”

Caroline laughed softly, her warm breath brushing across his skin like a tropical breeze. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

He took a folded white shirt from the clothes horse. Caroline released his waist when he pulled it over his head and helped him tuck it into his trousers in the back. She smoothed it over his shoulders with her fingertips while he selected the blue waistcoat with its subtle embroidery. She helped him into it and adjusted the clasp at the small of his back so the weskit hugged his ribs and waist. He didn’t need her cheval glass to know she was trimming his sails, making him look as sleek and swift as the _Gyata_. He wrapped the collar of his shirt with his black cravat, the only one he had, and handed her the pin while he tied the bow and tucked away the tails. She came around him to position the pin. Once it was in place, she looked up into his eyes, lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“You look very well, sir. I will be the envy of every woman here tonight. Except Baroness Brooke and her friend. They do not appreciate a man as others do.”

“Ah, are we dining with Sapphists tonight?”

“Yes, that was the seventh letter. Mrs. Katherine Ramsay, begging leave to be included in our party, as she is down from Scotland, visiting her particular friend Janie Brooke, whom I invited. But everyone knows they are lovers and have been since before Baron Brooke’s death. Despite their lack of appreciation for your sex, my dear man, they are gay company. Janie is extremely horsey. You’ll be able to talk bloodstock with her all night.”

“That will be a relief after talk of gowns and the Marriage Mart.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “My friends and I are not concerned by the Marriage Mart. But I admit there may be some talk of gowns, particularly since I am on my way to Paris.”

James slid his fingers under her chin, tipped her face up and kissed her, more chastely than was his habit, to avoid starting something they couldn’t finish before her guests arrived. “Thank you for inviting ladies for my benefit. Thank you for my very handsome gift. Thank you for being you, Caroline. I appreciate all of it.”

She smiled brilliantly, then half-turned and indicated the clothes horse. “You can thank me for your new coat, too.”

“Madam, I don’t need a new coat,” James said before he stopped himself. When her eyes dropped, he put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Although I’m deeply appreciative.”

“I’m not trying to make you into a dandy, James. I just thought you would like something new for this evening. You needn’t wear it—”

“I’ll gladly wear it. Put it on me, my generous girl.”

She did, lifting a black coat off the clothes horse and draping it around him. James slid his arms through the sleeves and settled it on his shoulders. It was cashmere, the wool very fine. It felt lighter than his usual wear: more appropriate for an evening near a warm fire than traipsing around in the cold, damp London weather.

Caroline brushed the shoulders off with her fingertips and smiled. “You may not need it, but you do look very well in it.” She blushed suddenly, her cheeks brightening even through her sunburn. “You are as beautiful dressed as you are naked.”

James ran the backs of his fingertips down her cheek to feel the heat there. “And why does that put you to the blush?”

She shrugged but didn’t meet his eyes. “There will be several ladies here tonight who have more to offer than I, and you look so very handsome.”

James chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. “Your friend the Doctor once called me a prize.” When Caroline nodded sadly, he gave her a squeeze. “He was mocking me, Caroline. I’m no prize, and none of the women here tonight would want me for anything more than a rough tumble. You are unique, my darling, in wanting more. And in giving me more. What’s brought this on? I thought you’d put aside all doubt and shame.”

She wrapped one arm around his neck and ran the fingertips of her other hand down the placket of his weskit, skipping her nails over the pewter buttons. “Emily’s a dark beauty, like your sister—”

“Caroline,” he chided. “I haven’t seen, or truthfully, even thought about my sister in days. Besides, since I’ve met you, I find myself preferring sunlight to darkness.” He wrapped one of her long curls around his fingers and gave it a tug. “Come, my lioness, tonight is supposed to be for our enjoyment only, not to make you sad and uncertain. Do you want me to send your guests home as they arrive?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“Then you tempt me to scandal, madam. If I have to spend the evening billing and cooing to show you how much I prefer you to any other woman, your little party will go down as the most notorious since the last meeting of the Hellfire Club.” At her little gasp, he smiled. “Shall I make love to you on the table during the pudding course? Are those the headlines you wish to read as we depart for France?”

“No, please, James, you wouldn’t. You’re such a terrible tease.”

“It is you who brought laughter back into my life, so you have only yourself to blame. Now, can we go down and greet your guests with smiles rather than trepidation?”

She nodded eagerly. When he offered it, she took his arm and he escorted her downstairs to the parlour, which was set to receive guests, with the couches and chairs drawn back to the edges of the room and arranged in cosy groupings. The sideboard was set with decanters and sparkling crystal, arranged with care on snowy damask. James looked around and saw the mark of what Caroline had called her servants’ house-pride everywhere. The Turkish carpets had been beaten and brushed so the knap shimmered in the firelight. The pillows on the chairs had been plumped and every inch of woodwork, from the table legs to the wainscoting, gleamed with polish. The polish added a faintly citrus tang to the air, already scented with late-season roses in glittering crystal vases. Thick beeswax candles in wall-sconces added to the fire’s glow, and the fire had been built up so the room was warm, then allowed to die back so that when there were a number of bodies in the room, it did not become stifling. The windows were similarly situated, with the heavy drapes drawn over the front windows looking out into the drive and street, but the drapes on the side windows drawn back so the ladies could enjoy the view into the darkened park, and the night breeze, when the windows were opened.

James poured them each a glass of brandy and handed one to Caroline. “Your servants are rightfully proud. Your house is a jewel-box.”

Caroline smiled sunnily and took a sip of brandy. “They do like it to shine for guests. I’m so glad no one is spending the night, or they would have had to do the bedrooms, too, and poor Maria would have worked herself into a state of nervous collapse.”

James grunted approvingly. “I, too, am glad that none of them are spending the night. Although I suppose I could gag you so you don’t disrupt their sleep with your screams.” He smiled at her little huff. “We haven’t done that yet.”

“Gagging me?” She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Tying you up.” James gave her a wolfish smile. “Thank you for reminding me of my necktie. It’s a convenient length.”

Caroline shivered, the heavy silk of her evening gown moving in a sweet susurrus. “Bad man,” she whispered before taking another sip of brandy.

“That I am,” James agreed. “Tell me again the names of your guests.”

Caroline did. Her close friends, Ginny Hawley and Countess Cowper, James was already familiar with. Mrs. Matilda Fisher, Mrs. Mary Molesworth, Mrs. Catherine Drake, whom Caroline called “Minerva,” presumably because of her wisdom, rather than a propensity for turning men into stags, Baroness Brooke, and the Baroness’s friend, Mrs. Katherine Ramsay, were new to him.

“Is Mrs. Molesworth an authoress?” he asked. “Her name’s familiar.”

Caroline nodded. “She writes _floras_. Treatises on plants and their cultivation. In that new science called botany. Mrs. Molesworth’s the one who first introduced me to Kew Gardens. She’s been much consulted by the gardeners there and two of her floras are on the Kew Gardens roses.”

“Fascinating,” James said.

Caroline rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be pert, James. She’s quite brilliant.”

James grunted. “And the rest of the ensemble? Am I in the company of authoresses and scientists tonight? I assumed your friends were Society ladies.”

“Lady Cowper and Mrs. Fisher are Society ladies, to be certain. Ginny Hawley and Mrs. Drake share a love of literature, although Minerva is more of an authority on ancient Greek than Shakespeare. She’s also the leading patroness of the ladies’ academy that Ginny and I attended, and exceptionally good company. Lady Brooke’s quite the horsewoman, as I’ve mentioned, and I assume that Mrs. Ramsay is, too, because I don’t see how anyone could spend time in Janie’s company and not be hopelessly horsey.”

James chuckled. “I see. A motley crew, but one sure to entertain. Thank you for assembling these ladies for my benefit.”

“Not just yours,” Caroline said. “These are the only ladies in London that I consider true friends. Although, not so much Mrs. Fisher. She’s a bit flighty. You’ll see. I invited her to keep Lady Cowper company. And of course, I don’t know Mrs. Ramsay. But as to the rest, they’ve been good friends to me and I’m glad for the chance to entertain them one last time before I go.”


	15. Chapter 15

Mary Molesworth was the first to arrive. Mr. Singh announced her with the tinkle of a small bell, probably the one he’d seen Caroline ring the day he’d interrupted her with her man of affairs. The chime gave James and Caroline a moment to compose themselves, finish their brandies, and place their glasses back on the sideboard. James offered Caroline his arm, which she took with a smile.

Mr. Singh opened the parlour door, bowed and said in his best deep butler voice, “Mrs. Molesworth.”

A petite woman, barely five feet, James estimated, followed Mr. Singh into the room. She was dressed conservatively, in dark blue bombazine rather than silk, with ivory lace covering her shoulders and décolletage. Her face and neck were tanned, a few shades lighter than James’s own, and James realised that she wore ivory because white would have made her unfashionable complexion all the more obvious. She had an open, pleasant face with very full, pink lips. Her dark hair, threaded with a few strands of silver, was plaited and coiled high on her crown and fastened with a series of gold clips in the shape of irises.

She moved into the room with a measured pace, taking in all around her with a slight smile. When her light eyes finally settled on James, he felt them flicking over him, measuring, assessing. When she lowered her eyes to make her curtsey, James was sure she could have accurately described his height, weight, shape of his face, size of his ears, the cut of his clothes, and the crest on ring. _A keen observer_ , he thought.

Caroline released his arm to return Mrs. Molesworth’s curtsey. James bowed and waited to see if she’d take his arm again. Instead, Mrs. Molesworth took Caroline’s hands and leaned in to peck Caroline on both cheeks. “My dear, you gave it pride of place,” Mrs. Molesworth said in a surprisingly low, rich alto.

“Of course. And I only left it up so everyone could admire it tonight. Tomorrow it will be packed. I will take a little bit of England with me everywhere I go.”

James followed Caroline’s gaze to a small, framed watercolour over the mantle. It was of a pair of yellow wallflowers, that staple of every English cottage garden, on a plain white background, with both flower and leaf detailed beside the two stalks. Even at a distance, James could see the loving attention in the minutely veined leaves, the grains of pollen clinging to the stamens. If he closed his eyes, he thought he’d be able to smell their sweet fragrance.

Mrs. Molesworth clapped her hands together lightly. “Oh, I’m so pleased. I adore the idea that it will adorn the wall of a smart little house in Paris. What have you taken? A townhouse like this one?”

Caroline nodded. “On _Rue Pernelle_.”

“You’re only a block away from the most charming patisserie on _Rue de Rivoli_. Their egg custards are divine. I’m so jealous. Do stay through Christmas and into the spring, and then I can visit you. Paris in spring, how wonderful.”

Caroline smiled what James thought of as her _gentle-no_ smile. She’d never given him that smile, but he’d seen her give it to others. _But then_ , he thought, _she denies me nothing_.

“I’m so sorry, but my stay in Paris is likely to be of short duration. Come, let me introduce you to my captain and dear friend, Mr. James Delaney.” Caroline gently steered Mrs. Molesworth to James. They exchanged bow and curtsey again as the little bell rang.

“I accompanied Mrs. Grant to Kew Gardens a few days ago,” James said to Mrs. Molesworth to make conversation. “I was most impressed by the flowers.”

Mrs. Molesworth gave him a gently ironic smile that reminded James of Miss Bow. “Which of the _rosa_ , _asteracae_ or _dianthus caryophyllus_ impressed you the most, Mr. Delaney?”

“The pink one.” James gave her a similar smile in return. “I profess no knowledge of flowers, Mrs. Molesworth. Only appreciation of their scent, colour and form.”

Mrs. Molesworth’s smile widened and turned real. “That is all that is required. And the pink one is an Old Blush rose from China. It’s a remarkable _rosa_. Few thorns, cold hearty, repeat flowering with a tea scent. Lovely to see it still blooming this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It is,” James agreed.

“It’s Mrs. Grant’s favourite rose,” Mrs. Molesworth said, nodding at their host, who gave her a gentle smile. “It’s what’s in your bouquets, isn’t it, my dear? I recognise the fragrance.”

As Caroline nodded, Mr. Singh opened the parlour door and announced sonorously, “The Baroness Brooke, Mrs. Ramsay and Miss Hawley.”

 _A veritable gaggle_ , thought James, a little overwhelmed by so many women at once. They crowded into the room, with none of Mrs. Molesworth’s slow grace, pressing in to embrace Caroline and then noisily greet Mrs. Molesworth, who looked as overwhelmed as James felt. Lady Brooke and her lover Mrs. Ramsay were women of a certain age, but ruddy-cheeked, fit and healthy. James could easily see them on horseback. _Probably astride_ , he thought.

Lady Brooke’s wealth was evident in her richly embroidered, beribboned, deep green gown. Her raven hair, lit by handsome silver wings, was pinned in a great pile atop her head, to better set off the massive emeralds hanging from her ears. _So big they don’t look real_ , thought James, but their depth and sparkle set them apart from paste. James wasn’t sure why the Baroness felt the need for such adornment; she was quite a beautiful woman in her own right. In contrast, her friend Mrs. Ramsay was almost plain: in a simple silk evening gown, modest at bosom and shoulder. She’d pinned her national pride over top: a length of tartan, red and black plaid with a white thread, secured at her shoulder with a gold brooch in the shape of a thistle. Like Caroline, Mrs. Ramsay wore her hair down, in greying ringlets that touched her shoulders. James wondered if her lover had also asked her to leave her hair unbound, and smiled to himself at the thought. Mrs. Ramsay was free of other adornment or ostentation and James found he far preferred her plainness to her lover’s flash.

Then James wondered if the contrast was purposeful.

 _A distraction_ , he thought. _A sleight of hand. Focus attention on the Baroness, in all her beauty and station, to distract from her_ particular _friend_.

The youngest of the group, Caroline’s close friend Ginny Hawley, finally came forward. She was probably only a year or two younger than Caroline, but lacked the pale, composed beauty that had drawn James to his mistress. In comparison, Ginny was a little dull: sallow skin, plain features and frizzy brown hair worn without much style. Her clothes reflected both lack of style and lack of money: a yellowish gown cut closer to the waist than the bosom, showing it had been remodelled from a previous season, and topped with a lace overlay lacking embroidery, ribbons or jewels.

Then she turned from Caroline’s warm embrace to greet James. He looked down into a pair of eyes as dark and liquid as any he’d seen in Africa, and immediately understood why Caroline was so attached to her. The girl’s soul was right there, on the surface, pure and sweet as black treacle.

He bent over her hand and said, “I’m very pleased to meet such a dear friend of Mrs. Grant.”

Ginny smiled at him, showing a cute gap between her two front teeth. “And I, you, Mr. Delaney. After the fond description of my aunt and Mrs. Grant, I feel as though I know you already.”

Remembering her dreadful auntie, James chuckled. “Yet you came to dinner anyway.”

The little bell rang again and Ginny started. She held out a small, leather-bound folio she’d been holding at her side, along with her reticule. “Mrs. Grant said you were enjoying Mr. Blake’s poems. I had the honour of receiving these poems from Mr. Coleridge after expressing my admiration of his lectures on Shakespeare. They’re not at all in the usual mode. I thought you might enjoy reading them on your travels.”

James took the folio from her, slipped open the lacings and let the pages fall open between his hands. “ _Kubla Khan_ , or a vision in a dream. A Fragment,” he read from the top of the facing page.

Ginny nodded. “I hope you like it.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Hawley,” James said sincerely, touched through his usual cynicism.

Mr. Singh opened the door and intoned, “The Countess Cowper.” He stepped back to allow another petite woman to flutter into the parlour in a froth of lace.

 _I’m going to drown in a tatted sea_ , James thought. He caught Mr. Singh’s eye. The Sikh gave James an almost imperceptible wink before slipping out into the hallway and abandoning James to the room full of women.

 _At least it’s a pretty sea_ , James thought, watching Caroline greet Lady Cowper. The Countess was a dark beauty, as Caroline had described her, with a wealth of chestnut hair curled around her face, eyes as dark and limpid as a doe’s, and extremely delicate features. She was wearing a pale gown of contrasting muslin and silk stripes, flounced with a great deal of lace, which James assumed was the height of fashion. Her gown displayed creamy shoulders and a wealth of cleavage, emphasised by a strand of coral beads. James glanced from the Countess to Caroline and smiled to himself.

 _She may be a celebrated beauty_ , he thought, _but my mistress leaves nothing wanting_.

Before Caroline turned to introduce him to the Countess, James glanced around to see what had become of Ginny Hawley. He found she’d moved a few steps away to admire Mrs. Molesworth’s watercolour. _Into the background_ , James thought, _where she prefers to hide. I wonder if Caroline’s bequest will give her the confidence to step forward and shine_. He turned the folio over in his hands before setting it down on a nearby table to retrieve after the party. _She’s certainly a hidden gem_ , he thought.

James bowed to Lady Cowper when introduced, but made no attempt at conversation. He still couldn’t see how a Whig connection could further his plans, and he didn’t want to give Caroline a moment’s doubt of his preference.

The Countess had no such inhibition. “So you are the man who is sweeping our dear Mrs. Grant off to the Continent, Captain Delaney?” she asked, although there was no trace of vixen or venom in her tone.

James didn’t bother to correct her. _I own a ship, perhaps that makes me a captain to a Society lady_ , he thought. “I am, indeed, Lady Cowper.”

“You’ll take very good care of her, won’t you, sir? One hears the Channel is still beset by French men-of-war, and the road from Calais to Paris overrun by deserters and vagabonds,” the Countess continued, and in her longer speech, James heard the bizarre drawl that so many of the upper class affected. He restrained himself from glancing at Caroline and rolling his eyes only by great act of will.

The bell tinkled again and James almost sighed aloud with relief. _Only two more and then we can eat. Those golden waters cannot be served soon enough_.

“I will take excellent care of Mrs. Grant, my lady,” James said to reassure the Countess. “We intend to tour the _Tuileries_ , the _Bois de Boulogne_ , the _Bois de Vincennes_ , the _Parc Montsouris_ and the _Parc de Buttes-Chaumont_ , taking in all points of the compass. Mrs. Grant is going to educate me on the varieties of roses, and I will teach her what I know of the different manners of tree. We both need to be in fine fettle to tour so much landscape.”

Caroline met his eyes over the Countess’s shoulder. Her lips twitched but she controlled her expression. Only a little wicked light glinted in her eyes.

“Oh, I’m very envious of your plans,” Mary Molesworth said, re-joining the conversation. “I beg you send me sketches of any new varieties you see.”

Caroline held up her gloved hands. “You know I am nothing up to your standard with pencil and paper. Would cuttings suffice? Perhaps I could prevail on Mr. Delaney to carry a tiny pair of scissors with him and sneak the cuttings out in his coat pockets.”

James bowed. “I am at your service, ladies. You know my deep commitment to the furtherance of horticultural knowledge.”

That was too much for Caroline, who drew breath to poke back at him but was silenced by Mr. Singh opening the door and announcing, “Mrs. Drake.”

Caroline moved around the Countess to greet the older woman who followed the Sikh into the parlour. Something she hadn’t done with any of the other guests, James noted. “Minerva,” Caroline said, holding out her hands.

The older woman moved forward, each step assisted by a silver-tipped cane, although her gait was very firm. _An affectation_? James wondered. _Or another diversion? Are any of these Society ladies what they appear_? If it was an affectation, it was effective, lending the lady a regal air. The impression was reinforced by thick silver hair, piled high atop her head and ornamented by three jewelled, gold fans. The diamonds in her ears and around her neck were not as huge as the gems worn by Lady Brooke, but Mrs. Drake’s jewels were also far too brilliant to be paste. Her midnight blue silk robes were no less fashionable in their day than the Countess’s, but far more modest, covering, from what James could see, a wealth of wrinkles. Her cheeks were still rosy with health, but deeply wrinkled in the way of pale skin that has seen a great deal of sun.

Mrs. Drake greeted Caroline by kissing her on each cheek, then took two steps to James, reached up and grabbed his chin in her knobbly claw. Startled, James looked down into the woman’s eyes. Pitch black, like a crow’s, like his mother’s. The old woman speared him with gypsy eyes, far too knowing. The room swam around James, and for a moment his mother’s face, her piercing, mad eyes, lay over Mrs. Drake’s.

James shook himself, but couldn’t dislodge the old woman’s grip. He reached out blindly, and Caroline’s cool hand closed around his.

“Mr. Delaney, is the room too close for you? Should I have the windows opened?”

Caroline’s voice, her calm nearness, snapped James out of his instant of delirium. He smiled gently at her. “No, madam. All is well.”

Mrs. Drake gave an unladylike snort. “I will be the judge of that, young man. What are you hiding that you won’t look an old woman in the eye?”

James lifted an eyebrow but met her gaze levelly. “Beg pardon, Mrs. Drake.”

“You’ll call me Minerva, just as Lingie does. I’m far too old to stand on such ceremony as you young people. And if you pass muster, I shall call you Jamie, as it pleases me. Now, I’ll ask you again, what are you hiding?”

James bowed to her, finally freeing his chin from her grip. “Everything, madam. Everything.”

The woman’s crab-apple face split, showing still-white teeth. “Ah, very good.” She held out her hand imperiously. “You may escort me in to dinner now.”

James offered her his arm, but looked to their hostess. “Aren’t we still absent one?”

Wrapping her claw firmly around his arm, Minerva snorted. “Tilly Fisher will be another twenty minutes, just like always. Just like her mother and her three silly aunts. None of whom own a decent pocket watch between them, apparently. The invitation said dinner at eight-fifteen. It is now eight-fifteen.” The old woman paused to let the ormolu clock on the mantle chime the quarter-hour, and James realised she’d timed both her entrance and her speeches to the second. “Ergo, we will now go into dinner. Besides, you appear about to faint from hunger, and as you’re the guest of honour, that won’t do.”

“As you command, madam,” James said.

They made an odd procession. _A peacock and his hens_ , James thought. _Only I’m not the peacock_. He escorted the peacock, walking slowly and stately. Lady Cowper trailed a step behind them. Lady Brooke and Mrs. Ramsey followed, not touching, but their bodies curving naturally toward each other. _A physical awareness_ , James thought, _which reveals more clearly than any slander the nature of their relationship_. Mrs. Molesworth trailed the Sapphists. Caroline and Ginny brought up the rear of the procession, arm-in-arm, with Ginny laughing softly at something Caroline had said.

Mr. Singh looked surprised when James opened the door and led the procession into the hallway, but the man recovered quickly. He moved down the hall and opened a door into what James assumed was the dining room, although he and Caroline had never actually eaten in it.

James found his assumption proven correct when he followed the Sikh into a large, well-lit room. Maria and two Indian girls in traditional red and gold dress stood near the side-board, ready to serve. The mahogany dining table, which dominated the room, was already set with damask, china, silver and crystal for nine. The table’s cloths were limited to an embroidered runner down the centre, under the serveries, and a snowy square under each place-setting. The unusually sparse linen revealed the table’s glory: an inlaid band of ivory that ran around the entire edge, carved into the shapes of elephants and monkeys.

As James paused at one end of the table to admire the ivory inlay, he noticed a tiny silver ornament in the shape of a shell, holding a white name card, at the top of each place-setting. _Caroline’s arranged us_ , he thought, reading the names on the cards. _Has she put me near or far?_

It was far, as it turned out, at the opposite end of the table. With his back to a pair of huge French doors that looked out over a porch and the park. He found Mrs. Drake’s name, in Caroline’s neat script, at his left hand, and, after he’d seated the matron, Ginny Hawley at his right. He held Ginny’s chair for her, then Mrs. Ramsay’s, while Mr. Singh seated first the Countess and then Lady Brooke, leaving the empty chair at Caroline’s left hand. James met the Sikh at Caroline’s chair. The manservant immediately bowed and retreated a step to let James seat his mistress. After Caroline had settled into her chair and arranged her skirts, James took her gloved hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“Thank you for assembling this glittering company in my honour,” he said.

“Welcome to my adopted city, Mr. Delaney,” Caroline replied. “I hope we humble ladies can make up for the lack of hospitality you have been shown thus far.”

“As I’ve said before, madam, in your company, nothing is lacking.” James bowed to her, basked for a moment in her brilliant smile, then removed himself back to his end of the table.

He took his seat: a carved mahogany chair that matched the table, with ivory elephants capping the arms. He sank into the blue and cream striped cushion, which matched the blue-papered walls. The arms of the chair curved wide, to accommodate broader skirts than were now the fashion. _Or the spreading waistlines of the gentlemen_ , James thought. Either way, the chair gave him plenty of room to move, which was a welcome change from the stiff, narrow chairs of his father’s house. _He used to cane my palms for fidgeting at the table_ , James remembered. He glanced at Minerva Drake, who was directing Mr. Singh to fill her glass with a chilled white wine rather than the claret Maria and the two Indian girls were serving to the other ladies. _I wonder if the dragon will cane me if I fidget? It might be worth the pain to see her try_.

When Mr. Singh finished filling the dragon’s glass, James nodded to him. With a faint frown of surprise, the Sikh poured a little of the white wine into James’s glass. “Would you care to try it first, sir?” The Sikh asked.

James restrained a grin. “I will partake in whatever delights Mrs. Drake.”

“That’s me boy,” the dragon chortled. “Fill it to the brim, man.”

A shadow of great sufferance passed over Mr. Singh’s usually stoic face and James surmised this was not his first night bearding the dragon. The Sikh topped up James’s glass and retreated.

James waited until all the ladies’ glasses were full before standing and lifting his own. He knew he was breaching etiquette. As hostess, Caroline should have offered the first toast. _But she is my mistress and will not object_ , James knew. _Besides, my balls demand some confirmation they’re still attached_.

“To my hostess, Mrs. Grant. When we were first introduced, I believed I was doing her a service by providing passage and protection for her journey to the Continent. Having come to know her, having seen her kindness to everyone she meets, from low to high, and having met those who will keenly feel the loss of her company when she departs, I understand that it is Mrs. Grant who does me the service by accompanying me. I am much obliged, Mrs. Grant, and I am ever, at your service.”

Caroline flushed prettily, giving her even higher colour than her sunburn. “Thank you, Mr. Delaney.”

James sat and sipped the white wine while the ladies drank. He expected it to be sour, but found it crisp and refreshing. _It comes out of Caroline’s cellar_ , he reminded himself. _How could it be anything but_?

Caroline rose and lifted her glass. “I would simply like to thank you, all of you, for coming tonight. You’ve been my steadfast friends, and I will miss you, each of you, so very much. I didn’t want to depart without saying _adieu_ , or without introducing you to Mr. Delaney, so you could be reassured at what good company and in what safe hands I travel. To you, my sweet friends.”

Everyone drank again, then Caroline gave Mr. Singh the nod and the girls came forward with the first course: an offering of either hot or cold soup. James could smell the warm chestnut and sage of the hot soup – the same soup they’d had the night after James had gone to Bedlam. Since he’d already tasted that soup, he nodded at the cold offering.

What was put in front of him was visually unappealing: a lumpy, reddish puree. Glancing around the table, James saw that only he and Caroline had opted for the cold soup, while the rest of the ladies had steaming bowls in front of them. Caroline acknowledged his braver choice with a tip of her spoon before she started eating.

James smiled as the first of the flavours chased across his tongue. There was the acidic brightness of tomato, then the sweetness of apple, both enhanced by the bite of curry, then smoothed by cream. James ate the soup with relish, only pausing when the dragon curled her claw over his forearm.

“That was nicely said, Jamie boy. Our Lingie is a treasure, and don’t you forget it.”

“I know exactly what I have in Mrs. Grant,” James replied. _Love and light and laughter and everything that was lacking_. “How do you know her?”

The dragon chortled into her wine. “When I first met Caroline Grant, Caroline Morris, as was, she was sixteen years old. All eyes and knees and a broken wrist. Girls said she fell out of a tree, but I knew that wasn’t true, was it, Ginny?”

Ginny Hawley bent her head over her soup. “No, ma’am.”

The dragon snorted. “How’d she get it, Ginny?” The dragon didn’t wait for an answer. “Scrapping, that’s how. Like a guttersnipe. The girls had been making fun of her for her Colonial ways and she’d gone at them. Blacked two eyes and knocked out Bess Harwicke’s tooth, though none of them would admit it. Headmistress made her stand in the corner and hold a book on her head with her broken wrist until she told the truth, but she wouldn’t, even though she cried from the pain. I fell in love with her that day. Little miss from across the pond, so proud and brave.”

James smiled at the woman’s affection, although he wanted to strangle the academy Headmistress. “Mrs. Grant mentioned that you were a patroness of the school.”

The dragon nodded her grand silver head. “Governess, while Lingie and Ginny and Ginny’s little sister were there. Now I just send them money. Too old to keep sticking my nose in the day-by-day.”

 _I very much doubt you’re too old for anything_ , James thought. “Yet educating young ladies is not much the fashion,” he observed.

“Pish and tosh,” the dragon rumbled and James could almost see steam curl from her nostrils. “Fools. How’d they expect to raise anything but a nation of idiots if the mothers are kept silly and ignorant?”

“What do you consider the essentials of a lady’s education?” James asked, more to enjoy the dragon’s continued roar than because he had any particular interest in the subject.

“Classical literature. Every great idea man, or woman, ever had, is contained somewhere between Plato, Socrates, Aristotle and Seneca. There hasn’t been anything new under the sun since them.” She waved a gnarled finger. “Mathematics, the sciences, music, dancing, art and if you must, French.”

“Why French only if you must?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte is the worst human being who ever lived,” the dragon said with such bitterness that James knew he’d hit a very raw nerve.

They sat, and supped, in silence for a few minutes, while James earwigged on the conversation at the other end of the table, which seemed mostly to be the Countess holding forth on the virtues of her eldest daughter. Virtues James found somewhat surprising in a child of four.

Just as they were finishing the soup, Mr. Singh disappeared into the hall and returned a few moments later, trailed by another flurry of silk and lace. Caroline rose, curtseyed and graciously accepted Mrs. Fisher’s apologies for her lateness, while the dragon grumbled, “Heaven’s sake, Tilly, don’t you own a clock?”

By the time the woman, somewhere below both the Countess and the dragon but above Mrs. Ramsay and poor Ginny, on the scale of beauty and fashion, was finally seated, the dragon had shaken off her ill-humour and was ready to roar some more.

“I hear you’ve been in Africa, Jamie boy,” she said, waving at poor Mr. Singh to remove her empty soup plate. At the nod from Caroline, Mr. Singh uncovered a tureen of potted beef sitting on the table between Ginny and the dragon and served the dragon a generous helping. “Ah, my favourite,” the dragon said approvingly, and James thought it had probably been put on the menu purely to placate the dragon. “Now, my boy, tell me all about it.”

Despite himself, James did. He left out the details of his enslavement by the _Asante_ , and his enslavement of others, and focused on things she’d find entertaining: a description of the grandiose Christiansborg Castle, and some of the _Asante_ legends. The table fell silent as he told of how the spider-god Anansi tricked Onini, the python, Osebo, the leopard, Mmoatia, the fairy, and Mmoboro, the hornet, into acting as payment for the Sky-God’s stories. When he got to the part in the story where Anansi captured Mmoboro by making the hornets believe it was raining and luring them into a calabash that the spider sealed and took to the Sky-God, Lady Cowper, Mrs. Fisher and Ginny giggled behind their hands.

He finished the story with a traditional Asante saying, “That is the story, which I have told you. If it be sweet, or if it be not sweet, take it elsewhere, and let some come back to me.”

The dragon put down her silverware and clapped, and the other ladies followed suit. James met Caroline’s shining eyes and swore he saw tears in them, but wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, another, another, Mr. Delaney,” Lady Cowper begged. “My children will adore that tale. Please tell us another that I can tell them.”

After a few bites of the superb veal escallops in saffron sauce, James obliged, telling then the story of how wisdom came into the world. Anansi’s foolishness in dropping the calabash that held all the wisdom, while trying to hide it up a tree, had the ladies laughing by the end.

As James finished, he realised the ladies were finished their meat course and were beginning on the salads and cheese. When Lady Cowper pleaded for another tale, he demurred.

“Surely among you learned ladies someone can take up story-telling duties while I do justice to this excellent meal.” He indicated the duck still sitting untouched in front of him.

The dragon was eventually persuaded to offer the story of Mercury stealing Apollo’s cattle, which James listened to with only half-an-ear, since he’d been taught the legend in the Company’s academy as part of compulsory Hellenic studies. The dragon, Lady Brooke and Mrs. Ramsey then launched into a discussion comparing the two trickster gods, to which Mrs. Molesworth offered occasional soft contribution, and Ginny surprised James by putting forward her view both firmly and adroitly.

James finished his meat with relish, and let Maria serve him beet salad and curried squash cakes before he lifted his head to the conversation again. He met Caroline’s eyes and saw her smiling fondly at her friends, but not contributing to the discussion.

 _What’s wrong, my linnet_? He wondered. _Surely you are not cowed by the voices of greater learning and experience? I know you too well to think you don’t have any opinions on the subject_.

James watched his mistress while he finished the vegetables and took a sampling off the cheese tray that Mr. Singh brought to him. Caroline was still eating and drinking, but desultorily, taking tiny bites of cheese and small sips of wine. _She’s sated and doesn’t wish to gorge herself_ , he thought, a sentiment he silently applauded. The fashion among the upper classes of gorging themselves to the point of obesity and eating so much sugar their teeth turned black disgusted him. He appreciated Caroline’s delicacy as much as he appreciated everything else about her. Between the dragon and Lady Brooke, who had somewhat incongruous opinions about the role of trickster deities in primitive cultures, the conversation needed no helping hand, but even so, James was a little surprised Caroline did not contribute more to it.

He caught her eye and gave her a smile, which she returned, although he thought it was a little strained. He patted his coat pocket, where he’d put his smoking supplies and looked her a question.

“Ladies,” Caroline interrupted softly. “Shall we excuse Mr. Delaney to have a pipe while we partake of some golden waters?”

The ladies all agreed and Mrs. Ramsay pushed her chair back and stood. “If you’ve no objection, Mr. Delaney, I’ll join you. I’m very fond of a pipe after a good meal,” she said, with just a trace of a soft Scots accent under her polish.

Mrs. Fisher tittered, which was the first catty sound James had heard all night. Lady Brooke rolled her eyes at her lover. “Honestly, I thought you’d given up that disgusting habit.”

Mrs. Ramsay gave her lover a mocking curtsey. “ _Ach_ , wouldn’t it be a dull old world if we all liked the same things? Shall we, Mr. Delaney?”

James stood and offered Mrs. Ramsay his arm, which she took. Mr. Singh opened the French doors out onto a stone portico. James led Mrs. Ramsay out of the dining room and into the crisp air of an autumn evening.

The Scotswoman produced smoking supplies similar to James’s from her reticule, although her pipe had a fancy glazed bowl. James lit her leaf before lighting his own. They smoked in silence for a moment before Mrs. Ramsay said, “I hope my smoking doesn’t disgust you, Mr. Delaney. The _Sassenach_ are horrified by a lady indulging in a bit of weed. Grossly déclassé.”

James grunted. “It takes a very great deal to disgust me, Mrs. Ramsay, and certainly more than the sight of a lady smoking.”

Mrs. Ramsay took a long draw on her pipe and released a cloud of white smoke with relish. “Ach, that’s lover-ly. Lady Brooke’s forbade it in her house, of course, so I must sneak out to the park like a criminal when I want a pipe. I get the most astonished looks from passers by!” She laughed, pleasant and low.

“Is it common in Scotland for ladies to smoke?”

Mrs. Ramsay shook her head and with a very sly look, blew a smoke ring. James chuckled and followed with one of his own.

“My dear father loved the devil’s weed and used to sneak me a puff whenever mother wasn’t looking. I developed a taste for it, and on my travels, of course, no one objected, so it became a daily indulgence. When I returned, my mother had passed, and it became one of those wee rituals between me and he. Funny, we talked most about her when we were smoking, yet she would have been absolutely horrified if she’d seen us.”

“Sometimes it is by those things which would have shocked the departed that we honour them,” James said. “Other times it is by fulfilling the legacy they have left us, whether we want to or not.”

Mrs. Ramsay gave him a deep look, and they smoked for several minutes without saying more.

When James finished his pipe, he tapped it out on the heel of his boot and tucked it away, then offered to do the same for Mrs. Ramsay.

“Oh, thank you, no.” She took a little silver tamper out of her reticule and plugged the bowl of her pipe with it. “I’m a Scotswoman. That means I’m terribly tight, as Lady Brooke will tell you. This way I save any bit of unburnt leaf for the next time.”

“Doesn’t that make for an ashy and bitter smoke?” James asked.

Mrs. Ramsay gave him a merry grin. “That’s all part of being a Scot. We’re not supposed to _enjoy_ our wee vices. Quite spoils our dour image.”

James chuckled. “Dour is not a description I would apply to you, if that is what you were striving for, Mrs. Ramsay. Thank you for sharing my vice with me.”

She curtseyed as she tucked her pipe back into her reticule. “And you with me, sir. And thank you and Mrs. Grant for being so welcoming. Lady Brooke and I aren’t always greeted with open arms.”

“I haven’t found a warm welcome in London, either,” James admitted. “For all that I was born and raised here, and all that anyone knows about me now are legends and lies. I am also aware that my relationship with Mrs. Grant is nearly as scandalous in the eyes of the world as yours with Lady Brooke. I appreciate that Lady Brooke did not snub the invitation as a result. Mrs. Grant is very sincere in her desire to say good-bye to her friends.”

Mrs. Ramsay looked out over the darkened park. “She’s not coming back, is she, Mrs. Grant? I probably shouldn’t ask, only Janie . . . Lady Brooke is most distressed that Mrs. Grant has no fixed idea of when she’ll return. And there’s a rumour that she’s put the house up for sale.”

 _Has she_? James wondered. Caroline had not mentioned it, and he hadn’t heard it as part of her discussion with her man of affairs, but she’d been vague with him, too, about her plans after Paris and readily agreed to accompany him to the Azores. _What are her true plans?_ He wondered. _Would she come with me to America, or do her plans lie elsewhere_?

“In truth, I do not know Mrs. Grant’s full intentions,” James admitted. “But I believe that she plans an extended absence from London.”

Mrs. Ramsay bowed her head. “That’s what Lady Brooke feared. How sad. She’ll miss Mrs. Grant a great deal.”

 _Caroline has made true friends here, who will miss her. But I cannot do without her and my selfish reasons for ensuring she goes outweigh theirs for keeping her_ , James thought.

Mrs. Ramsay took a deep breath of the night air and gave a small cough. _London’s air is not as clear or wholesome as the airs of Scotland_ , James supposed. With the pipe smoke lingering in his nostrils, James could not smell the usual coke-and-sewer stink of the city, a fact for which he was grateful. _We cannot sail soon enough; my lungs are starved for fresh, briny air_.

“Shall we, Mr. Delaney? I understand that Mrs. Grant has an extensive cellar and the _rosa solis_ is not to be missed.”

“Indeed.” James offered her his arm and escorted her back inside.

Caroline rose on their return and curtseyed. _My sweet linnet_ , James thought, _who always shows me every courtesy_. James bowed before returning Mrs. Ramsay to her seat. When he sat, he found Mr. Singh at his elbow with a tray of bottles.

“May I offer you brandy or a golden water, sir?”

“Whatever Mrs. Grant is drinking, thank you.”

The Sikh bowed, selected a bottle and poured James a glass of deep amber liquid. Brandy, James knew by the smell. _Very good brandy_. He took the glass and nodded his thanks to the man.

As he took a sip, the dragon’s claw curled over his free arm. “Jamie boy, you must help me in quashing Lady Brooke. She insists that there’s an American privateer faster than the _Endymion_ , which we all know is the fastest ship on the seas.”

“I would never come between two such learned ladies,” James said. “But in this case, you’re both right. While I believe the _Endymion_ is, indeed, the fastest ship on the seas running, the privateer Lady Brooke is likely referring to, the _Prince de Neufchatel_ , did, indeed, outrun the _Endymion_ sailing close-hauled, and thereby avoided capture.”

The dragon clapped his arm. “Well said.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Lady Brooke brightly. “But what does that mean? Running versus close-hauled?”

James found himself explaining the difference between sailing with the wind and sailing against it. He used silverware and the salt cellar to illustrate, and looked up to find all the ladies leaning down the table to listen to him. He glanced at Caroline, who was as attentive as any of them, although she certainly did not need a sailing lesson. She smiled fondly back at him.

“But surely, Mr. Delaney,” Lady Brooke said. “If there is so much difference in speed, all captains will always plot their course with the wind?”

“As much as they can, my lady. Many a smart captain has shortened a voyage by knowing when the prevailing wind blows and from where. But like many ladies, although none, of course, here tonight, the winds are fickle creatures.” He picked up the dragon’s claw and blew across the top of a huge carnelian cabochon that graced one finger. “Sometimes they blow as softly as a lover in a lady’s ear.” Several of the ladies giggled. “Other times, as strong as a Gorgon’s breath.” He blew hard on the stone but could not get it to move and ended up shifting the damn rock with his knuckle so it revolved around the dragon’s finger, to more giggling. “They do not blow with the same strength, or in the same direction, day by day, or even hour by hour. As Mrs. Grant can tell you, we sailed down the Thames yesterday to a wind so changeable, it blew from three directions, and back again against a wind that seemed to blow from all four.”

“Ooo.” That got round eyes all about the table, and requests aimed at both him and Caroline to explain their sail.

James tipped his hand to Caroline. “There sits the master navigator, so skilled at rigging that even the most scurvy swabbies on my crew cheered her when we landed.”

Caroline blushed at the attention, but was prevailed upon to explain the logistics of their sail. Taking a cue from James, she did so with napkin and utensils.

As Caroline was speaking, James felt the dragon’s claw on his arm again. “I like your style, Jamie boy. And your fondness for our Lingie. If you were only a decade younger, what fun we might have had.”

James tilted his head, not sure he’d heard the dragon correctly. “A decade _younger_?” She had to be at least twice his age.

She gave him an absolutely salacious wink. “Aye, my lad.”

Her wink stripped not one decade but two from him, and James felt himself blush for the first time in longer than he could remember. He chuckled, and finally, finally, felt at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun reading Countess Cowper's letters preparing for her appearance in this chapter. What a picture of upper-class life in England during the early part of the century they paint! It may seem in this chapter like these women are very stuffy, calling each other by their titles rather than their first names (with the exception of Mrs. Drake, who stands on ceremony for no one), but it was a much more formal time, when even husbands and wives addressed each other by title rather than Christian name. It probably also seems like these women drink like fish, but this would just have been the start of their evening. Countess Cowper and Mrs. Fisher would have gone on to meet their husbands, who would have finished the day's Parliamentary debate, then retired to their clubs for more debate (and booze), then met up with "mixed company" for more debate and yet more booze, not calling it a night until 1 or 2 in the morning. And that's on the nights when they didn't have a party or ball to go to where they'd be up drinking until dawn! It's hard to say if they were all drunk all the time, because they were so used to drinking like this (and, we have to remember, water was polluted and milk was for children, so coffee, tea and alcohol were constantly consumed instead), but I have to think that so much of the mad behavior these people engaged in was alcohol-related!
> 
> The vice of lateness, which I've given to her friend Matilda Fisher in order that the Countess could have a short conversation with James before dinner, was actually the Countess's great vice. She was known to arrive in the middle of Sunday services, which I can't imagine endeared her to her parish pastor, and was late to every appointment, engagement and even her own parties. Her lateness could be ascribed to managing her busy family (she had five children), except that she had a host of governesses, maids and servants at her disposal. She was simply a woman with a deep disregard for timeliness! However, she's consistently described as an extremely kind person, who did not long hold personal grudges, even against the sister-in-law (Caroline Lamb, Lady Melbourne, she of the infamous dagger scene with Lord Byron) who had disgraced her family. She had a very fine sense of the social niceities, however, remaining married to her husband despite barely speaking to him for years and having a very long-standing affair with Lord Palmerston (who was thought to have fathered her second daughter). Only after Lord Cowper died and Queen Victoria gave consent did she finally marry Lord Palmerston, when they were both in their sixties. They're described as being like honeymooners after their marriage, and I can't imagine what a relief it must have been for the Countess to be able to openly display her feelings for the man she'd loved for 30+ years. Still, she would have deeply disapproved of a respectable widow like Caroline Grant openly taking up with a rakehell like James Delaney. It simply wasn't done, darling!


	16. Chapter 16

After pudding of custard with saffron glaze that James enjoyed so much he had a second helping, and another round of golden waters, from which James abstained, Maria and the two Indian girls cleared the table and brought out cards and counters. There followed a spirited debate over which game to play, which Caroline settled when it looked like the much-maligned whist might be gaining ground. She declared a game of _vingt-et-un_ , which James had played many times. Lady Brooke was made the dealer, as she sat roughly in the middle of the table. She dealt with an ease that any of the men at the St. James Street clubs would have envied, and James knew he was swimming quite alone in a pool of card-sharks.

 _Good thing Caroline’s too genteel to let us use real coin under her roof_ , James thought. _I could lose all I’ve gained to this lot_.

James had heard of Society ladies’ penchant for deep play, but hadn’t realised the true extent of it until he watched the wild betting around the table. The poorer the cards, the madder the betting, and soon Mrs. Molesworth, Ginny Hawley and Mrs. Ramsay had been stripped of their hundred counters. Caroline played conservatively, betting lightly, so she still had most of her original hundred. The Countess similarly retained most of her hundred. It was the piles in front of Lady Brooke and the dragon that had increased most substantially, while James had doubled his pile by virtue of two excellent hands and careful betting when his cards were poor. Despite the temptation, he’d refrained from cheating, figuring that he was being watched too closely, by the dragon, if not others.

“All or nothing now, ladies,” the dragon chortled. The Countess and Lady Brooke quickly agreed, while Caroline shrugged helplessly. James nodded, hoping it would shorten the evening. He sat back and by dint of a five of spades was wiped out. Caroline’s “fortune” was toppled next, then the Countess went down, leaving Lady Brooke and the dragon locked in a fierce battle, that the dragon finally won in a wild round of five cards and a mighty bluff.

Caroline nodded to Mr. Singh, who brought forth an effervescent pink wine with which the ladies toasted the dragon’s victory.

Then, whether it was all the alcohol, or Caroline’s somewhat unsubtle yawns, the ladies took their leave earlier than James could have hoped for: a little before eleven. The Sapphists took Ginny Hawley with them in their carriage, and James said a sincere farewell to Mrs. Ramsay, while Caroline said a rather more tearful one to Ginny. Mrs. Molesworth was next, Caroline’s groom Thomas taking her home in Caroline’s phaeton since she’d hired a hackney from her lodgings on Henrietta Place, and Caroline would not hear of her calling for another hire. That left the Countess and Mrs. Fisher, who were departing together for Carlton House Terrace, to meet up with the Whig lords who had finished the day’s debating and would be returning from Brooks’s, to further dissect the “Catholic Question” over a late supper, and the dragon, who had imperiously retired to the parlour to await her carriage. Mr. Singh served them all another round of brandy while they waited.

James took a position by the fire while the ladies enjoyed Caroline’s comfortable armchairs.

The Countess, who had had little to say since extolling the virtues of her infant, chimed in as soon as they’d all had a sip of brandy. “Caroline, dear, I truly am bereft. Lady Brooke has been saying you’ve no fixed idea of when you’ll return. I thought you were only staying in Paris a month and would be back for Christmas. Tell me she’s misinformed and you won’t be away long.”

Caroline looked startled, although whether it was by the Countess’s use of her first name in mixed company or her rumbling of Caroline’s travel plans, James wasn’t sure. “My plans aren’t set,” Caroline demurred. “I had thought to spend some time in France, and now Mr. Delaney has invited me as far as the Azores, which I would very much like to see. Since I’m travelling in winter, my progress will be affected by the weather. I can’t say when I might return. But I will write. You know I’m a faithful correspondent.”

“Yes, you’re very good, but it’s not the same. If you’re going for so long, you must write me every day,” the Countess insisted, with more of that affected drawl that made James want to roll his eyes.

Caroline laughed lightly. It was a different sound than James had ever heard her make. Light and without substance. It wasn’t insincere, just not heartfelt. James immediately knew the difference; and he knew why he’d never heard that sound from Caroline before. “Every week, my lady, every week,” Caroline protested. “You don’t see me every day now.”

“But it’s quite different. I will only have your letters, not your company. I must have letters more often to compensate for your absence. Twice a week, promise me.”

Caroline shook her head at the Countess, but smiled. “Twice a week, then.”

“And you must come to luncheon tomorrow, and stay for supper,” the Countess pressed.

“I can’t possibly. I sail in a few days. There’s too much to do.”

The Countess reached out across the space between their chairs and laid her gloved hand on Caroline’s. “You won’t? Surely you can spare me a few hours. I’ll lose your company so soon!”

Caroline looked helplessly at James.

The Countess gave a trilling laugh, which made the tiny hairs on the back of James’s neck stand up. “Do you need Mr. Delaney’s permission?”

James almost growled at the woman, but kept his temper under control and said tightly, “I am, as you have named me, the captain of the ship she sails on, so, yes, she does.” With a glance at Caroline’s face, which was frozen, he continued. “And, of course, she has it. Worry not, Mrs. Grant, I will continue the arrangements in your absence.”

Caroline gave him a flat smile, and he was not at all sure he’d done what she wanted. “Thank you, Mr. Delaney.” She took a sip of brandy. “In that case, my lady, I would be delighted to accept your kind invitation.”

“One o’clock, then, no later,” the Countess insisted, patting Caroline’s hand.

Caroline nodded and took another sip of brandy.

James was heartily glad when he heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive, but it was the dragon’s carriage, an ancient, heavy thing, almost as tall as the first storey of Caroline’s house. James accompanied the dragon out and handed her into the carriage. She sat in the broad, padded seat and extended her claw to him imperiously. James took it and bent over the massive carnelian. As he did so, he noticed a little spot of ink on her second finger. The tiny imperfection endeared her to James enormously. He kissed her hand with true affection.

She patted his cheek before tucking her hands into an ermine stole. “I approve, Jamie boy. Make me a grand scandal now, so for years to come I can brag of how you fell at my feet one night and when I spurned you, you fled, heartbroken, with Lingie as your only consolation, to the Continent.”

“Please make it a grand and glorious tale, madam.” He took a fur-trimmed rug from the footman and tucked it in around her. “You make me wish to find a fountain of youth in the New World.”

She beamed at him, eyes both dark and bright, sunk in wrinkles. “When you find it, drink deep and come back to me. You might be young enough for me, then.”

James bowed to her. With a smile that must still fell men like oaks, she banged her cane on the carriage floor. The footman closed the door and the carriage swept away.

When he returned to the house, Caroline was waiting in the hall. She took his arm and smiled up at him. “You’ve made a conquest.”

“I believe it’s the other way around,” James told her. “Take care to grow old exactly like her, and my adoration for you will never fade.”

Caroline grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

“What’re you doing out here in the hall?” James asked, steering her back towards the parlour. “You’ve abandoned your guests.”

“You took so long, I was concerned Minerva had fallen. She has before on my stairs. They can be a bit slick.”

Before they passed through the parlour door, she looked up at him again, and this time her heart was in her eyes. James paused and ran his fingertips down her cheek. “Are you all right, my dove?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I’ve had enough,” she mouthed back.

He nodded, understanding completely. Several days in her company, enjoying the ease and comfort she gave him, had left him unready for how grating and exhausting the company of others could be. He was more than ready to be alone with her again. He kissed her forehead, murmured a word of encouragement, then escorted her back into the parlour.

Fortunately, the Countess’s carriage drew up only a few minutes later, and then Caroline was kissing the ladies good-bye, with the Countess insisting that Caroline not be late to luncheon. She waved the ladies off, then sagged into James’s arms as soon as Mr. Singh closed the front door.

James scooped her up, tossing her heavy skirts over her legs so they didn’t trip him. He turned and paced up the stairs.

“Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Singh,” Caroline said over James’s shoulder. “Everyone had a wonderful night.”

“Yes, thank you,” James said, keeping his eyes on where he was going. “And please thank Mrs. Singh for the best dinner I can remember. I do not hope to enjoy the soup and veal and custard in the fabled restaurants of Paris as much as I have enjoyed them tonight.”

“Thank you, sir, I will tell her,” Mr. Singh called after him.

James reached the top of the stairs, turned and carried Caroline into her bedroom. Her maid was waiting for them, having already turned down the bed and built up the fire. James let Maria help Caroline out of her gown, leaving her in a fine chemise and her stockings, then he dismissed the girl. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Grant from here,” he told her.

She bobbed once and fled, holding the gown over her outstretched arms. James closed the door behind her.

“Do I truly frighten her?” he asked, returning to Caroline and drawing her into his lap as he sat in one of the armchairs before the fire. He pointed at the brush on her washstand, which she handed to him. After removing the pins, he began to gently brush out her hair.

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She relaxed back against him. “Maria is very timid, and terrified of making a mistake, as you have seen.”

“Why? It’s not as though you’re harsh with her.”

Caroline shrugged, her satin skin sliding against the fine wool of his coat. “I know. It’s odd, isn’t it? Sometimes gentle censure from one we care about is more hurtful than a slap from a stranger. I noticed it with Richard. I never once heard him raise his voice to any of the servants, but a frown from him could reduce Maria to tears.”

“Mmm. Yet my frowns have no effect on you.”

Caroline laughed softly. “That’s not true. If you were truly cross with me, a frown from you would have great effect. I would come grovel at your feet and plead forgiveness for whatever I’d done wrong.”

“That I would very much like to see, madam,” James said, breathing warmly into her ear as he brushed the hair away from it. “We might try that after the twenty-five strokes and worship of every inch of my skin that you already owe me.”

That got another laugh and James smiled at the sound, after not hearing it for hours. “Caroline, I think everyone had a wonderful night except you. What went wrong, my dove?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head against his shoulder and James stilled the brush lest he pull on her hair. When she relaxed again, he resumed his brushing, enjoying the way her curls sprang back after being released from the bristles, and the silvery shine her hair took on in the firelight. “It all went well. The food was sublime, don’t you think? Mrs. Singh’s hand with seasoning is truly unmatched.”

“The food was excellent. The wine was excellent. The conversation was excellent. Everything was excellent except the look in your eyes, Caroline, which told me you hardly enjoyed yourself at all. And I think I saw tears when I told the story of Anansi. What upset you, darling? Was it my mention of Africa?”

She shook her head again and wet her lips with her little pink tongue, but didn’t answer.

“Answer me, or I will strap you until you do, Caroline, make no mistake.”

She smiled at the fire. “Really? I have no fear of you, you know. I’m not Maria.”

“The state of your arse will shortly convince you otherwise.”

She laughed. “Truly, James, I am a little saddened to say good-bye to my friends, but tonight mostly reminded me of all the reasons I’d resolved to leave London. I had, you know. Long before I met you.”

“I’ve come to realise that. I haven’t discovered why, though.”

She lifted her shoulders, not in a shrug, but more stretching her back like a cat. She settled back against him more firmly and James was glad he hadn’t undressed yet, because if there had been fewer layers between them, he’d have taken her, and he wanted to understand the source of her unhappiness before he did.

“I hate it, you know. The ‘m’lady-ing’ and the false smiles. The malicious whispers behind white gloves and the hypocrisy of it all. Emily and Tilly sat there stiff and disapproving every time I smiled at you, but both of them have acknowledged lovers. They’ve even _shared_ a lover if the rumours about Tilly and Palmerston are true. Emily felt free to call me by my name while we were waiting for her carriage, but if I’d dared called the Right Honourable the Lady Cowper by her given name, what a _faux paux_ that would have been! Despite the fact that I practically lived at Panshanger with her last summer, she invited me there so often. It would have been all the gossip on Wednesday at Almack’s.” She blew out a long breath. “Don’t listen to me, James. I’m not really that bitter. Being with you, feeling so free with you – I forgot for a few days exactly how much I hate it all and it hit me with fresh force tonight. Every glance, every whisper was like another stone being piled on my chest. I felt crushed under the weight of it. I couldn’t breathe.”

James ran his knuckles down her soft cheek. “Is that weight gone now?”

Caroline turned slightly in his lap and pressed her head against his shoulder. “Yes, my dear man. All gone. I feel much better now. How did you bear up?”

“Your machinations as to the seating proved effective. I know you seated me with your friend Ginny on one side and the dragon on the other to insulate me.” The rounding of her cheek against his shoulder proved his suspicion right. “The dragon lightened my night considerably and then Mrs. Ramsay proved an unexpected ally. You took the unpleasantness of the two Society ladies wholly on yourself, I suspect. Why did you even invite them, Caroline, if you knew they’d make you miserable?”

She sighed. “For the same reason I’ll go to luncheon tomorrow. Emily is a truly kind person, for all that she’s a gossip and a hypocrite. She’d have been deeply wounded if I’d had a farewell dinner to which she wasn’t invited. Honestly, I thought she’d decline. I assume she accepted to get a look at you, and that’s behind her invitation tomorrow.”

“She means to warn you off me,” James said quietly, wrapping one of her long curls around his finger.

“Yes, and remind me of the scandal of having you stay so openly as my guest and the damage to my reputation. Or, if I’m being more charitable about her motives, at least tell me to be more guarded with you.”

James tugged on the curl. “I trust you will be undeterred, Caroline. I will be extremely displeased if you begin hiding your true feelings from me.”

Caroline snorted. “Well, I would not want you displeased. My bottom might never recover.”

“Madam,” James growled.

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “James, you’ve had the merest taste tonight of what I’ve endured in Society. I’ve never let them dictate to me. Why would I start now, when I’ve finally found what I want with you?”

“Not dictate, no,” James said slowly. “But you’ve bent yourself to their will. You’ve hidden your passions, and secretly worked to subvert what you despise. I don’t mind being one of your hidden passions, Caroline, so if you need me to be more discrete, I will be. But with me you must be open. I mean what I say. I will accept nothing but the absolute honesty you’ve given me thus far, and that extends to your feelings. If you become guarded with me now, I will take it very badly. And what I take badly, ends badly for your arse.”

She giggled. “I promise I will remain as open and truthful as ever, no matter what Emily and her coven say and do tomorrow.”

“I expressed my concern for your reputation at the start and you told me not to concern myself.”

“And I stand by those words. Emily may tell me tomorrow that the Lady Patronesses will rescind my voucher, and that I’m no longer welcome in the houses of the Lambs and their friends. She may spread clippings about us from all the gossip rags in front of me and wave them like a quilt. I don’t care. I’m _leaving_ , James. I’m leaving London; I’m leaving England. I have been leaving for quite some time. I was just the only one who knew it. Now it’s out and I will have to endure the repercussions of that for a short time, but it makes no difference. I’m still _leaving_ , and nothing Emily and her friends do can change that.”

James grunted as he considered her words, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Caroline, think for a moment. Do any of them know enough to have you arrested? Do they know of your connection to the Americans?”

“No, James. I’m not a fool. My republican sympathies are no secret, but no one would ever believe I’m a spy. Tell the truth, would you have believed it if I hadn’t introduced myself as a conspirator? Moreover, Emily and her friends are all connected to the opposition party, so it’s not as though they are deep in the pockets of the Crown.”

James felt a coil of worry that had tightened his chest unknot. What she said was true. He would not have suspected her. Nor would a report from a Whig-aligned Society lady hold much sway at Carlton House. Particularly not against Caroline’s wealth and respectability.

“I will take your word on all of this, madam. You know the game and players better than I. But if there is a whisper of trouble tomorrow, then I will arrange for you to leave immediately and I will join you in Paris as soon as I can. I am in utmost earnest about this, Caroline. I will not risk your safety or liberty. Not for anything.”

She slid her arm up around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you, my dear man. So you are reassured, I will tell you what no one but myself and Captain Carver know, which is that he is ready to sail on two hours notice. As for myself, my affairs are wholly settled. I would be sorry to leave my personal bits and bobs behind, but I, too, can sail on almost no notice. If the house and my things here are seized, so be it. There is nothing here I cannot afford to lose.”

“What of Mrs. Molesworth’s painting? Your gowns and jewels?”

Caroline gave a small snort. “Mary’s painting is sweet, but it replaces on my mantle the true treasure, an authentic Titian that Richard acquired at the most horrific expense. One of his _Danaë_. It and its provenance are already packed and waiting in Bristol, along with a rather unremarkable Rembrandt that is nevertheless one of the most costly things I’ve ever owned, which all those nice Monamy seascapes in the hall replaced, as well as most of my gowns and all my real jewels. You must have noticed the limits of my wardrobe and that I wear nothing but your pearls.”

James chuckled, as much at himself as at her deception. “I had noticed your lack of adornment, sweet, but I thought it was merely modesty and good taste.”

“Oh.” She shuffled in his lap. “Well, I’ll continue to adopt modesty and good taste in your company, but I do have a nice collection of jewels. It’s true I have nothing as ostentatious as Janie’s earrings, though. They were outrageous. No wonder she only wears them among friends.”

James ran his finger along the line of her pearls, lying warmed by her skin, along her collar. “I am very pleased with your modesty and good taste, and if you wish to wear other jewels, I would be happy to provide them. I would not like seeing you in baubles bought by your late husband.”

“Would you be jealous? Oh, James, don’t be. I don’t have any pieces Richard gave me anymore. I mortgaged most of them to the Rothschilds, and when I repaid the loan, Nathan Rothschild made me an offer for the lot, as his mother had admired them. They were big diamond and ruby pieces, which were the fashion when Richard was young and set his taste. They did not suit me, and they reminded me of the unpleasantness with Richard’s former business partners, so I was happy to sell them. The few that remained after that, I broke up. What I have now, I’ve bought myself, including several sets of pearl earrings, which will match your pearls rather well. I’ve always liked pearls. I don’t know how you could have known that, except that you have excellent taste, my dear man.”

“Kindred spirits,” James murmured, which he felt to be true. “Does my pin match any of your jewels?”

She nodded. “How could you guess?”

“You chose it, so you must have a fondness for sapphires. They will bring out the blue of your eyes, so they will look well on you. It’s only logical. And our tastes run on similar lines. My darling, as much as I am enjoying sitting here, the hour grows late, my leg is falling asleep, and I would very much like to undress and sit you, naked, in my lap while we continue to discuss whatever you wish—”

Caroline giggled. “I would like that, too.”

“Good. Up you get, hoyden.” James smacked her playfully on the hip and she jumped out of his lap.

He stood, stretched and shook out his left leg, which had, in fact, fallen asleep. He limped around to his clothes horse on pins and needles. Caroline joined him and acted as his valet, removing his coat and hanging it on the clothes horse, then moving around him to unclasp his pin and replace it in its box in the drawer at the foot of the horse before unbuttoning his waistcoat. James unwound his cravat and took a deep breath, feeling able to breathe freely for the first time in hours.

Caroline ran her fingertips down his throat. “I do so prefer your neck bare.”

James smiled at her. “And why is that, you shameless hussy?”

“Your throat is strong and golden and beautiful. Just like the rest of you. Very handsome. I love seeing it exposed.”

“Speaking of which, why are you still wearing this, madam?” He flicked the strap of her chemise.

“Would you like me to take it off?” she asked saucily, backing up several paces towards the bed and pulling the short shift up her thighs.

James stripped off the rest of his clothes in five fast motions and chased her to the bed. She’d wriggled out of her chemise by the time he grabbed her and tossed her onto the mattress, but was still wearing her stockings with their adorable rosette garters. James decided he’d fuck her with them on, at least the first time.

He dragged her to the edge of the bed, rolled her onto her back and hoisted her stockinged legs into the air. Bending her knees, he pinned her legs with his forearm across her shins, then positioned her so her round little buttocks were right at the edge of the bed, overhanging the mattress by a few inches, wholly exposed. He rubbed his hand, with the one item of clothing he’d retained wrapped around his fist, across them and watched her arch her neck in anticipation.

“I believe you’re owed twenty-five stripes for your cheek, madam,” James said softly. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to give them all to her tonight. She’d be truly uncomfortable tomorrow if he did, and he didn’t want her squirming through her luncheon and evening with Lady Cowper. The visit would be uncomfortable enough as it was.

“Wait, wait,” she breathed, lifting her head to look at him and reaching her hand out to brush his thigh. “I thought I was allowed to reduce my punishment by soft attention to your manly parts.”

James shifted a little so only her fingertips brushed him. “How unfortunate that you are unable to reach.”

“James! Please, I won’t be able to sit down tomorrow!”

“True. I will make a bargain with you. Five strokes, at my pace, and then you may give me whatever attention you may, from a position of my choosing, and we will see if you can allay a stroke or two.”

“A position . . . of your choosing. But I must be allowed to reach you?”

“Agreed. Do we have an accord, little vagabond?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Very well, brace yourself, madam.”

She grabbed the edge of the bed, her knuckles blanching white, bracing herself as instructed, readying herself for pain. Instead, James gave her pleasure, keeping her knees pinned with one arm as he rubbed his tip up and down her netherlips with his other hand, ensuring they were both slick, then he shoved into her and fucked her hard for several strokes. Caroline arched her back and wailed with pleasure at his rough penetration.

Before he got carried away by the intense sensation, James pulled back. He unwound half the length of his belt from around his fist, and slapped it across Caroline’s buttocks with a flick of his wrist. He didn’t put any strength behind the blow, not wanting to hurt his mistress’s tender arse, particularly when he was about to pound against it. Even without any force, the belt laid a brilliant pink stripe across her bottom. Caroline whimpered and gulped at the blow.

“One more now, my darling,” James warned her, before flicking his wrist in the other direction and laying a second pink stripe across her arse. She made a little _a-a-ah_ noise at the blow, but didn’t cry out.

“Good girl,” James praised her, before positioning himself and thrusting deep again. Caroline writhed, tossing her head from side to side, her hair frothing around her shoulder and sticking to her neck. She reached for him, her hands flexing and fluttering along his hips. He guided her hands, one to his hip, the other to the wrist of the hand he was pinning her legs with. “Hold on to me.”

He began to rock in her, thrusting all the way to her core, then withdrawing to her entrance before plunging deep again. He knew that motion was wildly stimulating for his mistress, and after just a few thrusts, she was clamping down on him, her body straining towards release. Before her body could tumble over the edge, James withdrew from her with a wicked grin.

She opened her eyes, glazed and almost black with need, and glanced around wildly before settling on him. “James, James,” she pleaded.

“Control yourself, my blossom, and I will reward you. Now, onto your side.” He helped her roll onto her left side, keeping her legs tight against her body. He ran the tip of his belt down her spine to get her to arch her back, and when she did, he slapped the end of his belt across her right buttock. Caught unaware by the blow, Caroline gasped and jolted, then went almost limp. James rocked her onto her right side and slapped the belt across her left buttock, then back onto her back, with her feet in the air and a hard, full slap across her entire bottom that left her wailing and wriggling from the sting.

He let her legs down over the edge of bed, bent and kissed her thigh above the line of her garter. He spread her thighs with his hands, and leaned over to kiss the sparse, pale curls that covered her mound. “Your reward, sweet, inspired by your dinner guests.” He slid his hands under her, grasped her burningly hot bottom and pushed her across the bed so he could climb up and lie down on it with his face between her thighs. Then he licked and sucked her to a mewling, bucking climax.

When she lay panting and limp, he moved up on the bed beside her and brought her to his chest. He positioned her lying against his side, with her head on his shoulder, and her thigh between his, a somewhat torturous pressure on his still-hard cock, but he liked her weight on him and found an additional advantage when his hand quite naturally came to rest on her glowing bottom. He traced his fingertips over the sweet, hot globe, and felt the welts his belt had raised.

Caroline began laughing softly against his shoulder.

“Yes, my linnet?”

“Did we have a dinner party tonight, James?”

“We did,” he confirmed, wondering where she was going with this.

“Did everyone enjoy themselves but me?”

“I believe so.”

Her laugh became full-throated. “I’ve entirely forgotten. My lion has driven every thought but his wild lovemaking out of my head. Did you do so a-purpose?”

James stroked her hot buttock so she would feel the stripes afresh. “No, but I’m pleased with the effect. You deserve to have enjoyed yourself, Caroline, but if you didn’t, then the evening deserves to be quickly forgotten. So I give you another distraction, madam. You owe me adoration, over every inch. And soft attention to my bawbels. If you’ve sufficiently recovered, you may begin now.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, and slowly drew herself up until she was kneeling next to him. James rested his hand on her hip and let it stray down her thigh to her stocking. He traced the rosettes of her garter with fascination.

Caroline watched him touch her. _Still a little glazed_ , James thought, pleased that he could break through her usual composure with his lovemaking. With a little shake, Caroline seemed to remember that she was supposed to be the one doing the touching. She stroked her fingertips down his breastbone, lingering on a scar on his abdomen from an _Asante_ spear. “May I truly touch you everywhere?” she asked.

“Truly, everywhere.”

“Are you ticklish anywhere?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

She smiled, and traced his breastbone again. Before her hand went lower, James stopped her. “I believe I said that it was to be in a position of my choosing.”

“Oh, yes, you did.”

“Turn around and face my feet.”

He saw the puzzlement on her face, before she did as she was bid. She looked back over her shoulder at him once she was settled on her knees in the other direction.

“Now straddle me,” James directed.

“I don’t—” she began to protest.

“Do as you’re told, Caroline.”

She _humphed_. “Yes, my lion.”

Very awkwardly, she lifted her leg over him and straddled him mid-thigh.

James grabbed her hips and pulled her backwards until she was sitting across his groin. Then he pushed her forward with his hand on the small of her back, and when her bright pink bottom tipped up and she braced herself on her hands to keep from falling over his legs, James took himself in hand and thrust up between her thighs.

“Oh!”

He wasn’t perfectly aligned, James discovered with a grimace. He corrected his angle and tried again, this time pushing deep into her softness. Caroline moaned and shivered. She wriggled, adjusting her position, then sat back and took him fully inside herself as James’s eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure.

“Now you may touch me anywhere you like, sweet.”

She rolled her hips tentatively, testing her seat and the angle of his penetration. “Oo-oh, James, I had no idea we could join like this.”

“I’m pleased to have broadened your horizons. Where is this promised adoration, madam?”

“Oh, yes.” She leaned forward, onto her knees, stretching until she touched his feet. The tug and pull of her movement on his cock drew another groan out of James. She wrapped her hands around his feet, then stroked her palms from his toes to his ankles. James flexed his legs with pleasure. He shoved another pillow under his head so he could enjoy the view of her sweetly curved back and beautifully rosy behind without straining his neck, then took her hips in his hands and guided her to the right angle so she could ride him. At the apex of this flexion, he felt her grip him and his whole body gave a hard pulse of pleasure.

“Oh!” Caroline’s exclamation left him in no doubt she’d felt the pulse, too.

“Do you like this position?” James asked wickedly.

“Yes, very much.” She rolled her neck and her mane slid over her back enticingly. “It’s very deep, and rubs in the most delicious places. Oh, thank you, James, thank you.”

 _She’s thanking me for taking my pleasure, that is a novelty_ , James thought, grinning at her back. “You’re most welcome, my darling.”

She slid her hands up and down his shins while she rocked on him and James felt his head grow light with pleasure. It was a very good position.

“You do have such handsome legs, James,” Caroline murmured adoringly, and this time her adoration did shoot straight to his well-seated cock. “I’m not sure I’ve ever admired a man’s legs before. Yours are muscular and shapely and so very golden.” She traced his right shin from ankle to knee with two fingers. “Even these heavy bones are handsome.”

James chuckled breathily. “I’m very pleased to be found handsome down to my bones.”

She sat back a little, presumably to admire his knees, and her head fell forward as she looked down at where they were joined. She lifted onto her knees, and James grasped her hips to keep her from breaking their connection. She slid back down onto him with a gasp of delight.

“Oh, James, it’s beautiful. I had no idea what it looked like.”

James smiled and when he realised she couldn’t see him, squeezed her hips. “Have you never seen our joining before?” he asked.

She twisted to look over her shoulder at him. He smiled up at her soft, flushed face. She grinned – an open-hearted, joyous grin – before resuming a more natural position.

“I hadn’t,” she admitted, her voice full of wonder. “Your shaft—“ She laughed softly, then continued, “Your mighty, your magnificent, your wonderful, awe-inspiring, I’ve-run-out-of-words-to-describe-it shaft, is dark and glistening. It looks carved out of mahogany, but it bends and flexes as we move together. Like a dance. I had no idea.”

James laughed, sharing her delight rather than mocking her inexperience. “It is a dance, my sweet blossom. The oldest dance. Yet every time we’ve danced the dance has been unique. I never tire of it. And shall I tell you something very, very naughty? Something no well-born lady should know.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Caroline whispered, caressing his thighs with her fingertips as she continued to watch their slow joining.

“You can’t see it from your vantage, and I can’t see it now, but when I’m behind you, I can delight in this secret of your body. You have sweet little ruffled lips inside your pouty outers, like a petticoat hidden under silk. When I move in you, your inner lips kiss my shaft, puckering when I stroke in and pursing when I withdraw. I could watch them for hours. Seeing your body kissing me down there excites me more than a hundred oysters.”

“Oh! Can I see that?” She strained, bowing her back until James thought she’d do herself injury. “I can’t see it, James.”

He bit his lips to keep from chuckling, which he thought she might take badly. “I wouldn’t have thought so from that angle, sweet. But I’ll make you a bargain. When I return from delivering the powder, I will bring a pair of mirrors from my father’s house, and set them up so that you can see what I see.”

She twisted, grabbing his knees for balance. “Could I see it with just one mirror? I have one, on my washstand. And there’s the glass in the other room. Oh, please, James, I so much want to see that.”

“Yes, my naughty darling.” He helped her off him, and then went to retrieve the mirror himself when she discovered that having her legs bent for so long – first while he thrashed her and then as she rode him – left her wobbly-kneed and unable to walk. He grinned as he handed her the mirror, then helped her mount back up and endured her positioning the cold glass between his thighs.

“Oh, James,” she breathed, when she finally got the little round mirror into place. “Oh, James, I had no idea. It is just like I’m kissing you there. How can you bear it?”

 _Really rather cheerfully_ , James thought, as he guided her back into a rhythm that made his whole body tighten. “Why don’t you touch my bawbels, sweet, and we’ll see how much I can bear.”

“Oh, yes, oh, look, I can see them as well.” She feathered her fingertips up his inner thighs, which made James spread them wider in an almost involuntary reflex. He curled his toes with pleasure, and Caroline leaned far over and stroked them. “Your feet are so elegant. Every part of you is beautiful, James.”

“Thank you, my darling,” James said earnestly. “May I beg you to pay attention to the part between my legs which is shortly set to explode? It craves your attention in a most urgent manner.”

She giggled, released his feet and sat back. James felt his eyes roll back in his head and the room flicker to black as she sank all the way down on him again. _I’m going to die of this sweet torture soon_ , he thought.

“Mmm, which part? This elegant part right here?” Caroline asked, her voice so deep and throaty that James felt each word caress him like the brush of fur. She stroked his balls so gently, just the swirl of her skin over his, so light, James wasn’t even sure if it was her fingertips or knuckles. But the touch went through him like an electric shock.

“Caroline,” he groaned. “Really quite urgent now.”

More giggles, more impossibly soft touches, more rocking up and down, her roseate buttocks jiggling and dimpling with each thrust, more slick, soft sliding of his aching cock deep inside her, more fluttering caresses of her netherlips along his length until James felt his reason slip sideways and he began muttering to her in the _Asante_ tongue, “My good woman, my sweet one, my flower bud,” he called her in _Twi_. “Touch me, never stop touching me, never stop loving me—”

He broke off as his body erupted. He grabbed her hips and pumped up into her madly, each thrust reverberating through his body until he arched up off the bed, bowing at shoulders and heels, every muscle convulsing. He released in three great spasms that emptied him, leaving him scoured and hollow, and a roar that should have brought every servant in the house running.

James fell back on the bed panting, raggedly drawing great breaths into his lungs. Caroline sagged over him, still impaled, gripping his knees for support. She murmured something but James couldn’t make it out over his own rough gasps. Finally, he felt enough of his reason return that could exercise conscious command of his muscles. He helped her off him, then drew her down to his side. He held her close, her sweaty skin sticking to his, but James was far beyond caring. He stroked her head over and over, enjoying the warmth of the hair near her crown, the coolness of the tresses that lay over her shoulders. When he felt her shiver, he rearranged them on the bed and drew up the covers, but never for an instant let her ease more than an inch away.

When at last he felt capable of speech in the King’s English again, he said softly to her, “I think we’ve each forgotten everything but our mutual satisfaction tonight. I have no recollection of the party, or what so distressed you, or even my mother tongue. What did you do to me, lioness?”

She laughed softly and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “The same thing you do to me every time.” She reached up and toyed with his soft beard, then sniffed her fingers and hummed with pleasure at the balsam scent, before returning to stroking him. “Only I don’t reduce you to tears.”

“You have, sweet. More than once. But my tears are manly and dry quickly, so you do not see them and think less of me.”

“Ah, manly tears, of course,” Caroline said. “How very fortunate you are, to cry so conveniently, while I turn as red as a hothouse tomato and my nose swells to a size that would do any Gin Lane drunk proud. I’m envious.”

James chuckled. “I’ve never noticed either, and a little colour becomes you. For all that we’ve both quickly forgotten dinner tonight, I thought you looked beautiful, Caroline. Your fears of being outshone by the Countess, or any other woman in the room, were unfounded. Although, of course, no one outshines my dragon.”

“Dragon?” Caroline broke into a giggle. “Minerva? She’s not a dragon. Although I’ll admit she has a fearsome roar when she’s displeased. She’s very good value as company, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. I’m a little surprised you haven’t mentioned her before.”

Caroline shrugged. “She hasn’t come up, I suppose. And I haven’t seen much of her in the last year. She lost a favourite grand-nephew last summer in the battle of Dresden, and although she’s come out of mourning, she’s limited her engagements. She used to be active in a number of clubs and societies. I saw her weekly before her Charles died. But now I barely see her above once a month, and then only because I make a point of calling on her. It’s very sad, really. I understand her desire for solitude, and I don’t wish to impose, but I do feel as though our friendship has waned, and that’s certainly not because of any desire for coolness on my part. She’s been very dear to me since my school days.”

 _Ah, the reason behind the dragon’s hatred of Bonaparte_ , James thought. _She lost a soldier-boy_.

“You are still very dear to her,” James reassured her. “Write her often, more often than you actually do the Countess, and I suspect she’ll soon show you the old warmth. She’s been wounded, and like any dragon, has curled up to lick her wounds. She will respond to your friendship again in time.”

Caroline rubbed her fingertips across his bottom lip and snuggled a little closer to his side, sliding one stockinged leg between his thighs. “You’re very sweet to me, James, do you know that? I can’t imagine any other man being concerned about my friendships. Offering me comfort and advice the way you do.”

“Did you not lie with your antique husband like this and discuss your circle of lady friends?”

Caroline gave a soft snort. “No. When we lay in bed we talked business, if we talked at all. If it was a night that Richard did his husbandly duties, he usually fell asleep right after. I’ve told you, James, being with Richard was nothing like being with you. I haven’t had a lover before.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I like being your first.”

“You are, silly man. Although it is just like a man to think that being first to something is a victory. I’m not a mountain, sir, or a great river, to be discovered and claimed in your name.”

 _And yet the more time we spend together, the more I would like to claim you, in my name_ , James thought.

“I do claim you,” he said lightly, to divert himself from such deep thoughts. “I claim every bit of you. And you have some very nice mountains.” He palmed her breast for emphasis. “And a lovely river often flows between your legs. Your waters are extremely sweet and quench my thirst like no other drink.”

She batted his shoulder and yawned. “You’re very naughty.”

“That I am, madam. That I am. Sleep, now, Caroline.”

“Are you ready for sleep?” She didn’t sound as though she minded, only a little surprised. “I thought I had a few more strokes of your belt to endure first.”

“Mmm, your adoration has won you a reprieve. Your sentence is suspended until after the powder delivery, and then we shall see if you’ve discovered repentance and are able to render me a proper apology for your cheek. I should mention that such an apology should involve your knees and my nob.”

She laughed softly. “I would be delighted to render such an apology, sir. I welcome any opportunity to make close inspection of your manly parts.”

James grunted. “Unacceptable, madam. I’ve given you an extensive descriptive vocabulary. ‘Manly parts’ is a white-washed term I will not countenance.”

She giggled and sighed and cuddled close, rubbing her palm across his chest and her cheek into his shoulder. She shifted until she was almost on top of him and looked up into his eyes. James felt his breath catch, not because of the increase in weight. An emotion filled her eyes, beyond fondness, beyond adoration. It was like that look she’d given him when James realised she was falling in love with him, but it was more. So much more James didn’t have a name for it, he only knew that she was wholly exposed to him in that moment.

“Caroline,” he murmured.

She blinked, then smiled gently, and shuffled back down against his side. She put her face in his neck, stretched her arm across his body, found his hand and laced her fingers through his.

James felt a pinch of disappointment. Whatever that moment was, whatever she was going to say, it had passed without her articulating the emotion that filled her eyes. _It’s unfair of me to want her to say what I haven’t, what I can’t and shouldn’t until I’ve told Zilpha my heart is no longer hers. It’s unfair and yet I want it and I will have it, whether I have to tease or torment or beat it out of her_.

“You promised to deny me nothing,” he whispered.

“Yes, James,” she said.

Then he felt the dampness against his shoulder.

 _She knows what I’m going to ask, and she’s not ready to give it to me_ , he thought.

“Don’t fear me, sweet,” he murmured to her. “Not in anything. I promise I am only savage when you wish me to be. I can be tender. I can give you all your soft heart desires. You need only name what you want.”

She nodded, and gave a tiny snuffle. “Yes, James,” she repeated.

 _She’s not ready. And I don’t want to end this night with tears. Not when we’re to be parted tomorrow; not when I’m sending her off into the company of her society friend who will spend tomorrow clawing at her feelings for me_.

“We’ll suspend this discussion along with your sentence. Tonight has been painful for you and I don’t want to cause you more pain. But I want you to know that I would welcome any sentiment you wish to share with me, Caroline, and I hope you don’t fear the intensity of your emotions. You have no more reason to fear them than you have to fear me.”

She snuffled again and pressed her lips to the hollow of his shoulder. “Thank you, James.”

“Sleep, sweet. Sleep. We’ve had a long day.”

She nodded, and squeezed his hand, and they fell asleep that way, still entwined, and as James discovered when he woke, with Caroline still wearing her stockings. But without her having admitted whatever deep emotion had overwhelmed her reserve and welled in her eyes for a moment.


	17. Chapter 17

James woke to the buzz of the wind through the _bété_ trees. _An angry wind_ , he thought, in that grey transition between sleep and wakefulness. _To make such a noise_.

He blinked and took in the bright golden light through the mullioned windows, felt the stiffness of his back from lying in one position for so long with Caroline’s weight on him. _We’ve slept late_ , he thought, before checking the clock. It was nearly eleven, he discovered when he did, and wondered if they’d slept through Maria’s knock, or if she had the day off as well as Mrs. Singh.

Caroline stretched and rubbed her face in his shoulder, tingling and numb from pillowing her head all night.

“Good morning, dear James,” she said, yawning.

“Good morning, sweet. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I feel . . . goodness, James, we’ve slept late!”

“Mmm-hmm,” James agreed. “Sea air, or in this case, river air. Well known for its somnolent effect. I’m sorry if it leaves you pressed for time this morning.”

Caroline smiled. “I need little time to get dressed and it’s a short ride to Emily’s. Thomas can follow with my gowns for dinner.”

“Gowns?”

“Oh, yes. Three to chose from, at a very minimum. Plus ribbons, gloves and slippers to match each. It’s really quite appalling, a lady’s _equipage_ for a full-day’s visit. Men’s wardrobes are so much simpler, particularly if you’re not a ridiculous dandy like Mr. Brummell, whom I hear changes clothes up to five times a day. But there it is. It’s expected. Emily will set aside a room for my use and one of her maids to do my hair, so I may dress simply for luncheon, but still be elegant for dinner.”

“I had no idea such an elaborate _toilette_ was required of you, my dear, or I would never have consented to such a visit. I have the sense I disappointed you when I did, anyway.”

She shrugged and rolled out of bed, laughing to herself when she discovered she was still wearing her stockings. She moved to her wash stand, poured water from the pitcher into the basin and wet a washcloth. She washed her face and neck, breasts and stomach and then between her thighs, while James watched the water and morning light turn her skin to pearl and gold. She cleaned her teeth and brushed her nails, then shook out her hair and ran a brush through it before returning to the bed. “May I get you anything, James?”

“I’d welcome you refreshing me as you just refreshed yourself, sweet.”

“Do you want me to call for hot water? What’s in the pitcher is cold.”

“No, but I’ll require you to warm me after you’ve washed me.”

Caroline smiled brilliantly. She turned back to the wash basin and as she did, something angrily buzzed by her head. Caroline ducked and gave a little shriek.

James sat up in the bed, then ducked himself as the angry buzzing swooped between the gauze curtains and out the other side of the bed towards the window. He got a good look at it when it alit briefly on a window pane, before pattering across the glass to disappear behind the curtain.

“Is it safe to come out?” Caroline asked, peering over the edge of the bed. “What it is?”

“The biggest bee I’ve seen this side of Africa, where they’re the size of spaniels,” James answered, watching the curtain shiver.

“It must have come in last night when I had the windows open to air out the room. I thought bees were all dead or gone into the ground by this time of year.”

“Aye,” James answered. “It must be the last of its kind. Give me a towel and I will ensure its extinction.”

“Ooo, James, no. You can’t kill the poor thing. You just said it’s the last of its kind. We must open the windows and chase it out.”

“Madam, you may not have been able to see clearly as you were cowering under the bed, but the thing is as big as one of Notre Dame’s gargoyles and has a scimitar for a stinger.”

Caroline slapped at him with the washcloth. “You mayn’t kill it, James. I insist. Help me open the window.”

James grumbled, but climbed out of bed and opened the bee-free window.

“The window is open,” James said, with a bow. “How do you intend to herd the monster to its escape?”

Caroline shivered as the cool autumn air flowed through the open window. “Well, I hadn’t thought that part through quite yet. It’s quite chilly, isn’t it?”

James grunted, seeing where his duty lay. “Get in the bed and stay warm, madam. I will play Lancelot.”

He picked up a cushion from one of the armchairs by the fireplace and held it in front of his groin, since the bee was patrolling the window just behind his clothes horse and he had no doubt as to what would happen if he tried to armour himself before facing his enemy. He picked up a towel off the washstand and balled it around his free hand.

He heard Caroline giggling as she climbed into the bed, and mentally doubled the number of strokes in her suspended sentence. “Beware, madam, the Sword of Damocles hangs over your head,” he grumbled at her as he approached the window.

The trapped insect gave a sinister buzz. James found himself approaching the damned thing with more trepidation than an _Asante_ battle-line. “Brother Bee,” he said to it in _Twi_. “Brother Bee, I mean you no harm.” He lifted the edge of the curtain with the balled towel.

The bee flew straight at his face, faster than a spear, and James only just ducked in time. It buzzed over his head, so close he felt its wings ruffle his hair. Instead of heading to the open window, the angry insect zoomed through the bed curtains again, drawing another small shriek out of Caroline. The bug soared towards the far corner of the room, bumping against the ceiling and walls in its confusion and fury, before settling on the unlit wall sconce like a giant snuffer.

James stalked across the room. “Brother Bee,” he called to it. “I perhaps mean you a little harm if you can’t make your way out of the fucking window I’ve opened for you.”

In the bed, buried under the covers with just her gleaming eyes peeping out, Caroline giggled wildly and James realised he’d spoken in English.

James moved to the window, hoping that his motion would attract the bee to the opening. Instead, it sat resolutely on the unlit candle and glared at him with insect malevolence.

“Fuck,” James said softly. “I feared Thorne Geary’s bullet less than I fear your sting, you monster.”

“James, should I ring for Mr. Singh and Thomas?” Caroline asked, her voice somewhat muffled by the covers.

“Absolutely not. I will not be routed by a bug. Stay where you are.” He took slow steps across the room towards the entrenched insect. “Brother Bee,” he called to it again in _Twi_. “Freedom lies there.” He pointed at the window with the balled towel. “You must go. My sweetheart will not take me in her arms again until you’re gone. Go, Brother Bee.”

The bee sat unmoving.

Gritting his teeth, James charged and swatted the wall just behind the sconce with the end of the towel.

Stunned, the bee dropped off the sconce and landed on the floor, its many legs in the air, twitching.

“Oh, James!”

 _Fuck, I’ve killed it_. He wadded the towel around it, trying to touch it as little as possible for fear of crumpling a wing or antennae. _It can fly without antennae, surely_.

He carried the balled towel to the window and carefully shook the bee out onto the window ledge.

It lay there for a bad moment, unmoving, and James thought he would have to admit to Caroline that he’d killed it. Then it shuddered and righted itself and with a thunderous buzz, soared through the window to freedom.

James shut the window with a sigh of relief and tossed the towel and cushion into the armchair. Caroline rushed him from the bed, throwing her arms around his neck; he scooped her up.

“Oh, my hero,” she crowed, before peppering his face with kisses. “I’ve never seen a bee that big. You’re very brave, my dear man.”

“As brave as Lancelot, d’you think?” he asked, carrying her back to the bed.

“Much braver. That bee was five times as fearsome as Méléagant.”

He tumbled her onto the bed, for the sheer enjoyment of seeing her curls froth around her shoulders. He followed her immediately into the tousled covers, positioned her beneath him and took her, rubbing himself down her netherlips to wet his tip, then thrusting gently until she opened for him, wrapped her legs around his hips and whimpered her pleasure. James slid his hands under her, holding her nape and buttocks. Holding her in exactly the position he wanted. He thrust, deeper and harder now that she was open to him, taking his reward. Caroline wound her arms around him and kissed whatever she could reach as he held her: his cheek and his mouth and his jaw and his chin and his throat. All the while, she murmured to him that he was her hero, her brave man, and finally, finally, as she threw her head back in her climax, her love.

James felt those words, which he’d wanted to hear so badly last night, take him over the edge. He emptied into her almost gently, smooth pulses of pure pleasure, like ripples in a pond, lapping through him. The ripples went on for several minutes, little throbs that she echoed, rising to him, pulsing softly around him. He sank onto her, giving her his full weight, locking them together until the pond finally stilled.

He rolled onto his side and withdrew. He pulled the counterpane over them, as the room was cold, and cuddled her to his chest. She was smiling, relaxed and sated. No tears; no sign of fear. James wondered if she remembered what she’d said in her passion. As she relaxed against him, stroking his back, he decided she didn’t. But it didn’t matter. She’d felt it; she’d said it; he’d heard what he wanted to hear.

Now he had to tell her what she wouldn’t want to hear. But what had to be. He cradled her head on his bent arm and cupped her cheek with his other hand. “I’ll miss you today, my sweet dove.”

“Mmm.” She looked up at him and a frown slowly formed, drawing the delicate skin of her forehead into fine creases. “Oh, I wish now I’d found some way to decline Emily’s invitation. We could have spent this afternoon and evening together.”

He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then, lingeringly, her mouth. “It’s better that you’re far away from my business. You will return late from dinner, and I do not know how long it will take me to deliver the powder. So I will call on you tomorrow morning at nine—”

“What? No, James, no, please. Won’t you come after you’ve delivered the powder?”

He kissed her again to silence her protest. “No, I do not know how late I will be, nor what dark deeds I may have to do during those midnight hours. So I will call on you for breakfast and you will receive me, undressed, uncorsetted, with your hair unbound, in the charming way you do, and we will break our fast together and tell each other of our separate adventures, and then we will retire and fuck until we can fuck no more.”

“Well, I do like the sound of that last,” she sighed. “But please, please come to me after you’ve delivered the powder, James. I don’t care how late it is. I won’t be asleep. I won’t be able to sleep for worrying about you.”

“I care. I will not disturb your household late at night, nor add to the rumours darkening your reputation, nor the danger I have already put you in. I will come in the morning, when all is done and I’m sure there is no risk to you.”

“James—”

“No, you will not gainsay me, Caroline. I will come in the morning, and tonight after you return from the Countess’s, you will drink a glass of brandy, to ensure a sound night’s sleep. That way you will be well-rested for the morning’s acrobatics.”

She stroked his back. “If you insist, Sir Lion. James, if there is any trouble, you will send me word. Please? I don’t care what time it is. If you’re not here in the morning, I will go frantic. Please do be careful.”

He rolled her a little closer and folded her cheek against his heart. “Listen, my darling, and tell me what you hear.”

“Your heart,” she whispered into his skin. “Strong and sure.”

“That’s right. Slow. Steady. Not in the least reckless, and so I shall be tonight, I promise you. And I will be here in the morning, punctually, so you need not worry. And if you need something to occupy your time in the hours between then and now, you may contemplate the fine apology you owe me.”

“Mmm, I will try to think of some novel way to express my contrition.” She was silent for a long moment, but neither still nor relaxed. James could feel the pressure building before she burst, “It’s in moments like this that I wish you were not my first lover, James. I feel a foolish, inexperienced girl, not knowing anything but that single way to give you pleasure.”

James stroked her head. “You give me pleasure in a thousand ways, Caroline. Never concern yourself about that. As for novelty, let your mind wander. Free your imagination from inhibition. And if you find yourself struggling for inspiration just ask me. I will tell you what pleases me most in that moment, and we will be in perfect accord.”

“Oh, yes, I will, if you don’t mind.” She sounded extremely relieved, and James wondered at how fraught she actually was under her polish. More than he’d guessed. “I will try to think of something new. It’s just that I like so much the things we’ve done, and I’m afraid of doing something that seems pleasurable in my head but isn’t when I put it into practice. I don’t want to try something you don’t end up liking, but I don’t want you growing bored with me.”

James chuckled at the impossibility of that notion. “Sweetheart, fear not. Of the many, many things I have been with you, bored has never been among them. And don’t think me a cynic in the bedchamber. I have more experience than you, yes, but it does not follow that those experiences have been anything like what we share. They have been, in the main, a fleeting thrill. Without substance. Certainly without permanence. I have not made conquests. I have simply moved on to the next in the hopes of finding something less hollow than the last. Do you understand me?”

“I think so.” She stroked his back. “I only want to please you, James, and I fear that in my inexperience, I am ignorant of what you want, where a truly worldly woman would be able to anticipate your desires without requiring your constant instruction.”

“I _enjoy_ giving you instruction, madam,” James told her. “Do you think a jade like your friend the Countess, who has had so many lovers she has _shared_ one with another woman in a room of eight – that disgusts me, by the by – would take my instruction? No, she would be as my previous lovers have been: selfish in her own desires, clinging or coquettish as required to bend me to her will, and disdainful of direction. You are, as I have told you, unique in what you offer me, Caroline. You give and give and want nothing from me but my attentions, which I would like to lavish on you, and I will, once this business is done. If you want me to teach you ten new tricks tomorrow, I promise to do so, but they will not endear me to you any more than you simply putting your arms around me and kissing me as you have done a hundred, nay, a thousand times, with true feeling. That is all I want from you, my lioness, your earnest affection.”

“Oh, James, you have that. You’ve always had that. From the very first moment I saw you at Countess Musgrove’s party, you have had that.”

“I know, sweet. It’s what drew me to you, and what has kept me coming back to you despite the urgency of my business and the risk to you, which I still abhor. So you will let me go tonight to take care of my business, and when I return, I will lavish on you all the attention you could desire.”

She laughed throatily. “Oh, be careful what you promise, my fine man. I will hold you to that.”

“I make no promises I do not mean to keep. Now, give me a last cuddle, and we will rise and summon your sleepy servants, since it is getting very late.”

She did exactly as she was bid, and James closed his eyes in bliss as she held him tight.

*

James padded down the steps of the Harley Street townhouse. He was alone, Caroline having finally ridden off on Old Bess to Mayfair, with Thomas to follow in the phaeton with a trunk full of gowns once Maria had finished ironing and packing them. It was a little past one and Caroline was going to be late to luncheon, but he’d seen neither contrition nor concern in her eyes as she prolonged their leave-taking. James had held her and kissed her, ignoring her staff’s carefully averted eyes and the ticking of the clock, no more eager for her to go than she was to leave. When she’d finally gone, with a last wave as she turned the corner at the top of Harley Street, James had accepted a pair of overflowing saddle-bags from Mrs. Singh, who despite it being her day off had buzzed around them since their rising almost as furiously as the bee, plying them with tea and coffee, boiled eggs and crumpets. James felt pleasantly full and when he accepted the bags, wondered how he was going to eat at least another’s stone’s worth of food before he and Caroline were reunited.

 _Maybe Atticus is hungry_ , he thought.

James handed the saddle bags to Caroline’s groom and accepted his grey gelding’s reigns from the lad. He stroked his horse’s nose while Thomas buckled on the saddle bags.

“Thank you, Thomas,” James said.

Thomas tugged his forelock. “Couldn’t I come with you, sir? Mr. Singh can take the trunk to the mistress. Mrs. Singh says you’re in danger, sir. You shouldn’t go off into danger alone. I know how to shoot. Mrs. Grant’s taught me. I’d be a’ use to you, sir.”

James was taken aback by the lad’s sudden show of loyalty. _But I should expect nothing else_ , he told himself. _Nor is this down to me. It’s Caroline’s light, which shines on all around her and makes us all better than we’ve any right to be_.

James clapped the youth on the shoulder. “Thomas, I would like nothing better. But I cannot take you away from Mrs. Grant, particularly when I will be away all night. Please reassure Mrs. Singh that I have strong arms at my side for tonight’s work, and that I will return in the morning, unscathed. Tell her I am very much looking forward to breakfast. And I shall count on you in the meanwhile to take care of Mrs. Grant for me. Please be ready to collect her from the Cowper’s at short notice. I fear her visit today may be less pleasant than previous visits, and she may want to depart early.”

Thomas looked disappointed but nodded. “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

“Good lad.” James mounted up and turned his horse in the other direction from the one Caroline had taken, towards the river, and his father’s house.

He unpacked the saddle bags in his attic room, rather than giving them to Brace and risking the addition of malignant seasoning. He laid out a feast of carefully wrapped cold meats, pies, salads, fruit compotes in clay jars, an entire tart, a full tin of ginger biscuits, and several bottles of cider and beer. _She must have emptied Caroline’s entire larder_ , he thought, amused. He ate one of the pies, several biscuits and drank a bottle of cider before re-wrapping those things which would keep and putting them in his safe, and returning the balance to the saddle-bags to take with him. _Maybe Cholmondeley and Robert are hungry, too. There is certainly more than enough for all of us_.

He went through the small amount of post that had come to the house, noting that there was nothing from his sister. He responded to two letters, then took out a third piece of foolscap and sat looking at it for long minutes, before picking up his quill.

_Dearest Sister,_

_I write knowing you may not read this, as you burn my letters._

_I write knowing you may despise me after you read this, if you ever do. Know I regret that, as well as any other way I have wronged you._

_I write to tell you that I have had a change of heart. I will not describe the particulars. They make no difference to what is between you and I._

_I write to tell you that I relinquish any claim on your heart. You never gave it to me willingly; you never welcomed my love. I relieve you of the burden of it._

_I give you back to your husband and your God._

_I hope you find happiness with both of them._

_Your brother,_

_James Delaney_

Before he could think too closely about it, he folded the letter, sealed and addressed it and put it in a little pile with the other two to leave for Brace to post.

Rising from his desk, feeling a sense of relief that he knew was foolish as it was unlikely Zilpha would even read his letter, much less care about his change of heart, James changed out of the fine clothes he’d worn from Caroline’s, a linen shirt as white and soft as snow and the weskit with its blue-on-blue embroidery. He put on a tattered blue shirt and a plain, dark waistcoat, suitable for a mourner. He packed extra powder and ball in the space left in the saddlebags, and fit knives into the sheaths in his boots, which had been empty since his second trip to Caroline’s. He checked the knives he always wore on his belt, then covered them with his greatcoat, pulled on his hat and gloves and escaped the house, mercifully without encountering either Brace or Lorna Bow.

As expected, he found Atticus at the Dolphin, apparently unconcerned about their evening mission. James placed the saddle bags on the planked table and stole a mussel from Atticus’s plate.

“What in them, then?” Atticus asked, nodding at the bags.

“Mrs. Grant’s contribution to today’s venture. Did you get everything?”

Atticus nodded and wiped his fingers before plucking open the saddle bags and drawing out their contents with grunts of delight. James placed a gloved finger on the biscuit tin just before it disappeared into the depths of Atticus’s coat.

“Better ‘n I thought they’d be, from the smell,” Atticus grunted. “Not got much of a taste for ginger, me, but them biscuits is something else.”

“Agreed. But they are for _sharing_.” James tapped the top of the tin. “There’s more than enough for all of us, and any King’s soldiers we run into. We can bribe them with biscuits rather than gold.”

Atticus chuckled, but stopped trying to sneak the tin off the table.

“James, me boy, without wanting to question the grand plan, why are you givin’ the powder to the Yanks?”

“Payment,” James told him. “For safe passage through their blockade, and to keep us all out of the noose until we’re ready to sail. Watch what you say to the spectacled bastard who meets us tonight. Don’t trust him an inch. He has my name and the chemist’s, but there’s no reason he needs to know any others. Do you hear me?”

“Aye.” Atticus nodded. “Does he know your fair first mate’s?”

“Sadly, yes, which is why I must keep Mrs. Grant far from tonight’s business. There can be no mention of her or anyone connected with her. Can your men remember that?”

Atticus nodded again. James checked the position of the sun through the wavy-glassed windows and settled back on the bench until he was wedged against the tavern’s wall. “Wake me at seven,” he told the old sailor.

“Ye can’t sleep there,” Atticus protested. “All the comin’ and goin’. ‘Sides, you’ll put off the punters. Go to Helga’s. She’ll give you a bed.”

James took out one of his knives and drove it into the table, pinning the broad strap of the saddle-bag to the wood. “At seven,” he repeated. “No later.” He tugged the brim of his hat down over his eyes and closed them.

He slept fitfully, roused out of a grey, drifting doze when people came close to speak with Atticus, jostled when the tavern grew full, but he did sleep, off-setting the hours he would lose tonight as they transported the powder, and he dreamed not of the crow-woman in the river, but of his mistress, her sunlit smile, and the look in her eye from the night before, when she’d felt more, and more deeply, than she was willing to say.

When we woke, he found Atticus replaced by French Bill, who was solemnly scooping Mrs. Singh’s cherry compote out of its pot with the tip of his knife and eating it in sticky gobs. The man didn’t speak, but nodded when James stirred. James nodded back before helping himself to another pie from the much-reduced pile, and a handful of ginger biscuits from the half-empty tin.

“Those are right good, those,” Bill said, nodding at the biscuit tin. “Yer lady’s a good cook.” For a man called ‘French,’ Bill’s accent was pure Cockney.

“My lady has a good cook,” James corrected him. “I will be sorry to leave her behind when we sail.”

Bill grunted. “Atticus’s Bridey ain’t much of a cook.”

“So I’ve been told,” James said. He checked his pocket watch. Quarter to seven. _Caroline will be getting ready for dinner with the Countess now_ , he thought. _Her borrowed maid will be pinning up her hair_. James’s hands itched to feel that silky length under his palms. He wanted to sit her on his lap as he had the previous night, take the pins out of her hair and brush it until it lay in shining waves down her back. He wanted to see it froth as they played and fist his hands in it as he held her beneath him.

He shifted on the bench against the sudden constriction of his pants across his crotch. _I don’t even need her presence to give me a cockstand. Just thinking of her works well enough. I’m going to regret this on the ride to Hampstead_ , he thought ruefully.

Atticus thumped down next to Bill on the plank bench and helped himself to a biscuit. “Best kidney pie I’ve ‘ad, that,” Atticus said, nodding at James’s half-eaten pie. “Your lady’s cook married? ‘Cause I know a very eligible, very ‘ungry bachelor—”

“Mrs. Grant’s cook is a devout Sikh, with two children. You may keep your mind off her as you keep it off Mrs. Grant. Is everything assembled?” James asked.

Atticus nodded. “Jus’ waitin’ for Ferns an’ his cart. He’ll be ‘ere in time, James me boy, don’t you worry.”

James didn’t worry. He acted. He took out one of his knives and worked it between his fingers. Then he used the tip of the knife to begin carving a _sankofa_ into the table’s stained planks.

“’Ere now, what’re you doin’ to the table?” Atticus protested.

James gave him a bland look from under the brim of his hat, daring the old sailor to put his hand in the way of James’s carving. _I’m in the mood to remove another thumb_ , he thought.

Atticus sat back on the bench beside Bill, subdued.

“For your book,” James said. “There is a symbol shared by the _Asante_ tribesmen of northern Africa and the savages of Nootka Sound. Half-way around the globe from each other. It is called a _sankofa_. A bird, reaching back, to pluck an egg of its back. How do these peoples, so widely separated, come to share this symbol?”

Atticus shook his head, and Bill stared at James with wide eyes.

“No?” James asked when neither man offered an opinion. He brushed wood shavings off his carving and left the symbol glaring in raw wood at the two men. “They _dream_ it together, gentlemen. They share that capacity for dreaming that cultured men have lost, and their dreams connect them, across space and time. How else to explain it?”

Atticus shook his head again, while Bill continued to stare.

James fished a ginger biscuit out of the tin and munched on it. “They taught me how to dream again in Africa. To see the _sankofa_ and the snake that began the world and the spiral of days. They cut and burned and inked them into my skin so my dreams would walk with me during daylight. Is that what makes me a savage? Or is it my willingness to do anything to survive? Cultured men do not value survival above all. They will die for _ideals_ , sacrifice their lives for _principals_. A savage cares nothing for ideals and holds no principals. A savage cares only for survival. That is what we do tonight, gentlemen. We survive.”

Atticus’s mouth worked soundlessly, while Bill’s eyes were so big and protuberant, James thought the balls might pop from their sockets.

“Enjoy the last of the biscuits,” he told them, swinging his leg over the bench. “Tell me when this Ferns arrives.”

He rose from the bench, stretched to loosen muscles kinked from sleeping upright, and strode out into the evening air to enjoy a pipe.

When he returned, a man even shorter than Atticus stood beside the table, twisting his wool cap in his hands. James recognised him from their sail.

“Did you provide the cracked stay to Mrs. Grant as she asked?” James asked the man, coming up behind him silently and speaking into the man’s ear.

The sailor jumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. She will see to its repair,” James said, and he was sure Caroline would, although she hadn’t mentioned it to him. “Now that everything is assembled, shall we go?”

Atticus and French Bill packed up the crumbs of Mrs. Singh’s feast into James’s saddle bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder as he followed them out to the waiting carts. Each cart was pulled by a pair of black horses. Sensible; it was a funeral procession. James glanced at his grey, who was tied to the tavern’s hitching post. The grey was too recognisable, but even so, he was sorry to leave his horse behind.

James swung up into the cart beside Ferns and let the saddle bag fall to his feet.

“Them bikkies were a real treat,” Ferns said. “Mrs. Grant’s a fooine lady to bring ‘em to the likes of us.”

“Yes, she is,” James agreed. “There will be no shortage of ginger biscuits on my ship.” Although, seeing how quickly the contents of the tin had disappeared, James wondered if that would be true.

“Right bonny lass, too,” Ferns continued.

“Yes, she is,” James agreed fondly. _I should be jealous_ , he thought. _No man should admire Caroline but me_. But he could muster no jealousy. It seemed right that Ferns and the crew appreciate Caroline’s superior qualities.

He stretched on the carriage seat, and felt thoughts of Caroline wrap around his shoulders like a warm blanket. _There is warmth to it, but no weight_ , he reflected. _Caroline is pure sunlight. She shines, giving warmth and comfort to those around her, but like the sun, her light is no burden, asking nothing, only giving_.

Those thoughts kept him smiling all the way to Hampstead, despite the rutted roads and un-sprung cart.

*

At the farm, Atticus gave out the mourning costumes to Cholmondeley, Robert and three of the men who had been stirring the vats. The men changed while Cholmondeley oversaw the careful ladling of the gunpowder into the seven coffins. James had thought he’d taken the measure of how much gunpowder the vats would render, but there was more of it than he’d supposed. Fifty-five barrels, in addition to the seven coffins’ worth. _A fortune in gunpowder_ , James though, _and I am giving it away to bankrupt Colonials_.

He shrugged off the irritation of it. _I buy time and liberty and secrecy_ , he though. _Although the good doctor will demand either more powder or something more valuable shortly. And I cannot trust the weasel to keep any secret_.

James knew that, eventually, he would have to buy Dumbarton’s silence with a different currency.

While he waited for the sun to set and the other men to prepare themselves, James carved another _sankofa_ into a wooden beam of the mixing room. _I will leave my mark all over London_ , James thought. _Perhaps I will require all who sail with me to wear it. We can have matching brands_.

The idea of Godfrey and Lorna Bow and Atticus all wearing his brand amused him. _But not Caroline_ , he thought. _I will brand her in a different way_.

Tucking his knife away, he went to join the men who were loading the carts. There, he collared young Robert and impressed on him the importance of discretion, before putting on the boy’s mask with an affectionate chuckle. Looking into the boy’s dark eyes, James saw himself, and perhaps Zilpha, and definitely his father, but could not parse one from the other. He still felt no impulse to fatherhood, if the boy even was his son, but he could offer Robert more than farm chores and the dubious affection of the farmer.

 _I’m like a rock in a river_ , he thought. _I soak up the sun’s warmth all day and give back a little of it at night._ Then he thought, _Caroline would be a fine mother to an orphaned Delaney boy. She loves unconditionally, and has no fear of madness_.

He put that thought aside for the future to focus on the delivery of the powder, but it rode beside him, like her warmth, and caused him to give one last instruction to Cholmondeley, before they parted ways.

Returning to his father’s house was as dismal as he’d feared. But as it was well past one in the morning, he had no intention of disturbing Caroline. He would see her in only eight hours anyway, which felt both much too long and, as he yawned hugely, a little too short.

It did not improve his mood to find Brace and Lorna still awake, and wanting to talk to him. _At least the canary is not in evidence_ , he thought. James decided to take his own advice and helped himself to a large glass of brandy while Lorna prattled at him. He focused on the one thing she said that interested him, and the one thing he thought would send her off to bed so that he could get a few hours sleep on the couch, close to the fire.

What Lorna told him about his sister, both her words and her evident injuries, dispelled all of Caroline’s lingering warmth. _She hasn’t read my letter_ , he thought. _Or if she did, she didn’t care_. His gut clenched, and his groin, which had been aching since the tavern, ignited with the same black need to possess he always felt when he thought of Zilpha. _Will I never be free of this?_ James wondered. _I love Caroline. I do. Love Caroline. Zilpha is the past. She let me go years ago, and now I must – have – let her go in return_.

He gulped down brandy to quench the burning in his nethers, but it only made his gut roil and did nothing to ease his need.

 _I need my sunlight_ , he thought.

Since Lorna seemed unready to quit the fire, James finished his brandy before heaving himself up the stairs to his cold attic bed. He heard the rain begin before he fell asleep.

It wasn’t the pounding of the rain that woke him, but a different impact: flesh on wood. He roused himself slowly from a fugue that contained more howling visions than dreams and more twitching discomfort than rest. Rolling off the bed with a groan, which was echoed by the old mattress, he made his way soddenly downstairs.

He had no hope that it was Caroline at the door, come because she could not bear to be parted from him for even a few more hours, come to slake his need and ease him into sweet sleep. Still he hoped, and the death of that hope, when he saw his sister’s battered face through the door’s glass panes, was as bitter as ash in his mouth.

She was much as she’d been all those years ago, when they’d been children together, flouting all convention and the glowering disapproval of their parents. Wild and fey. Aware of the mysterious charms she could spin with nothing more than the cobwebs of her hair and the scent of her skin. But those charms slid off James, leaving him unmoved when she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. They dripped off him as the skein of water she shed seeped through his shirt and slid cold over his skin. He did not ask her if she’d read his letter. He did not put his arms around her or kiss her back. He did not sweep her up and carry her upstairs to the groaning bed to sate his black need, because it had gone as cold as the fire.

His cock hung limp and his spirit hung limp, as everything in him recoiled from her presence and touch. Nothing stirred as he listened to her gleeful admission, built up the fire and tried to think his way around the catastrophe she had created.

The fire’s warmth seeped into him, lit the delicate planes of her face. But neither his heart or his groin heated.

 _I never told you to kill him,_ he thought resentfully _. I had chance after chance and abstained. Did that tell you nothing? Where is the girl who knew what I was thinking at a glance?_

She moved behind him, restlessly, like a child.

 _But you’re not a child anymore_ , he thought, listening to her uncap the brandy and pour herself a drink. _You’re a woman-grown. Yet you’re still thoughtless. While he was alive, you were protected. Now you’re exposed. Like a nerve in a broken tooth. A weakness. A weakness I cannot afford._

When she moved back behind him and he was afraid she would touch him again, he rose, moving away from her, telling her how things must be.

“Home?” she asked, spinning to follow him.

“Yes.”

“You’re sending me home?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course. Or you will hang.”

He watched the shock register in her liquid eyes. Eyes that were echoed in Robert’s face. _Did you give up our son?_ He wondered. _For the sake of convention and status and your God?_ _Did you reject him as you rejected me?_

“I will take care of the body,” he told her. “No one will know.”

“Of course,” she repeated.

James turned his back on her, and everything she represented, and stalked up the stairs to dress and wake Brace.


	18. Chapter 18

He was almost late to attend Caroline, as the night nursing sister at St. Bartholomew’s would not let him leave Geary’s body until the day nursing sister arrived. Then there was a bad moment when another doctor offered to examine the body. But Dumbarton intervened and James left the matter in the American’s hands. His horse was as tired and irritable as he, catching its shoes on the cobbles as it plodded through the streets to Marylebone. It huffed and blew at him when he tied it up at the post in front of Caroline’s townhouse. Thomas would tend the horse, just as Caroline would tend him, but the anticipation of that care soothed neither equine nor human temper.

Mr. Singh opened the door before James could ring, as always, and James thought that before he sailed, he’d tie up his horse at the neighbour’s and sneak up the drive, just to the surprise the man. Then he put the thought aside as unworthy.

 _Caroline’s kindness is infecting me_ , he thought. _First the boy and now her manservant_.

“Good morning, sir,” the Sikh greeted him. “Mrs. Grant is awaiting you in her sitting room.” After the man took James’s coat and hat, he said, “Would you like me to draw you a bath after breakfast, sir?”

 _I guess I do stink of horse shit_ , James thought. _And probably blood now as well_.

“Yes, thank you,” James confirmed.

The Sikh gestured to the stairs. “If I might take your boots, sir, I will clean them while you’re breakfasting.”

James pulled off his boots and handed them to the man. His stocking feet sank into the soft hall runner, and James felt a great weight fall away from him.

_I am home. Where I am fed and tended and loved. Where I can put_ _behind me_ _everything that’s happened since I was last with Caroline._

Those thoughts made his steps lighter as he padded up the stairs.

Caroline was waiting for him in the green and cream room next to her bedroom. With a good fire, and a table covered with breakfast dishes before it. Unlike Zilpha, she didn’t run at him or force unwanted embraces on him. She didn’t burden him with her thoughtless, childish acts. She rose when he entered, dipped a curtsey and waited for him to sit and inform her of his desires. Her pale blue eyes searched his face and she smiled at him uncertainly, but made no move until he nodded at the buttered kippers, eggs and porridge. After she filled his plate and before she poured anything into his cup, she opened the top of the teapot and held it out to him.

“Mrs. Singh made you an Indian specialty, _masala chai_ , after you were so complementary about her Indian dishes. It’s wonderfully fragrant. Would you like to try it?”

James took a sniff. Cinnamon, cardamom and cloves, along with the warm earthiness of tea, filled his nose. He nodded.

Caroline poured for both of them, then set a slip of paper by his plate. She placed her fingertip on it. “James, before you read that, have you seen your sister since yesterday?”

James inclined his head. “If that note says that Thorne Geary is dead, I already know.”

“I just didn’t want it to be a shock,” Caroline said softly.

_She has no wish to burden me. She protects me. Not with her pistol, or her new knife, but with her gentle little heart._

James set aside his napkin and utensils and slid off his chair to kneel at her feet. She put down her teacup and held her arms out to him. When he leaned into her, she drew his head onto her breast and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers stroked the back of his head, and James closed his eyes, feeling comforted all the way down into that dark burning core that Zilpha had poisoned.

“Oh, James, James, I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. “I’ve been so horribly worried since receiving the note about Mr. Geary. Did things go very badly?”

“No. The powder is on the way to your Irish conspirators. Your guns will not fall silent. As I promised you, I was not reckless. My sister, on the other hand, was.”

“Your sister was reckless? I don’t understand . . . oh, James, no. The report was cholera.”

“The epidemic remains in your good doctor’s imagination. There was murder done last night, but not by me,” he said, pressing a kiss against her collar, just below the line of her pearls.

Caroline stroked his neck.

“What are you thinking, Caroline?” he asked when the silence stretched and she said nothing.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “No, that’s not true. I was thinking that she’s free now, to be with you.”

“Does that worry you?” he asked gently. _My sweet, it should not. No matter what happens with my sister, I will never, ever give you up_.

She stroked the back of his head again before answering. “I don’t know. No. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“That is, indeed, what matters. I am here. Despite the urgency of my business, I am here. Despite having to dispose of my brother-in-law’s corpse first thing this morning, I am here. Despite my sister coming to me last night, I am here. I am here, with you, and that is all that matters.”

And in that moment, it was all that mattered.

Caroline squeezed him tight. “Thank you for being here, my darling man. What can I do to lighten the extra burdens you’ve had to shoulder since we parted?”

Everything in him recoiled at the thought of Caroline becoming involved with Zilpha. Those two worlds must stay far apart, never touching, never crossing.

“Caroline.” He rubbed his cheek against the creamy swell of her breast, bared by the low neckline of her dressing gown. “My sweet linnet. Always trying to delight with your soft little song. You must stay out of my business. My brother-in-law’s murder may be concealed, or it may be exposed in time, but either way, you must not be involved. I sent my sister back to her house and there she will stay. She must face the consequences of her own actions.”

“James, you wouldn’t allow her to hang, surely?”

 _Would I?_ James wondered.

“I’ve given her what protection I can, and the means of leaving England if she chooses. More that that, I will not do. I won’t allow her recklessness to unseat all my plans.”

Caroline held him in silence, then kissed the top of his head. “James, I know you ate nothing after we parted yesterday. Please, my dear man, please eat before your breakfast goes cold.”

“Not true. Mrs. Singh sent me away with such a huge hamper that I had to share it with half of Atticus’s tavern to avoid it going to waste,” he told her. “Let me savour my mistress’s embrace for a moment longer. I’ve missed her very sorely these last cold, dark hours.”

“Oh, James.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I’ve known nothing but discomfort and raw nerves since we parted, Caroline. I felt no ease until I passed over your threshold again. That’s your power over me, madam.”

She stroked his head and neck. “James.”

James lingered in her arms for another minute, enjoying her softness and warm heart. When he rose, he felt that comforting blanket around him again. He shrugged himself into it like a coat, and swore this time that nothing would tear it away from him.

They ate in companionable silence, broken only by James’s expressions of admiration for Mrs. Singh’s Indian tea and the buttered kippers, which he’d not had since returning to England, and enjoyed hugely. When they were finished, James rose and moved to Caroline’s chair, scooped her up and carried her through the connecting door into her bedroom.

“Your man is going to draw me a bath, of which I evidently have great need, so you will do nothing to entice me, madam, but I think we will both be more comfortable in your bed for now.”

“You do smell a little strongly of horse, but I am too much of a lady to mention it.”

“And yet you just did,” James said.

“Well, too much of a lady to mention it first. May I take your clothes, which are a little ripe, if I may say so, and present you with something that arrived yesterday?”

“Have you been buying clothes for me again?” he asked.

She grinned. “Yes.”

He set her on her feet and Caroline moved, whisper light over the thick carpet, to his clothes horse, which was becoming unsteady under the weight of all the clothing piled on it. She collected a bundle of dark cloth neatly folded at the horse’s foot and brought it back to him. When she held out her free hand, James removed his stained linen, belt, trousers and stockings and handed them to her. Then he took the bundle from her and let it unspool between his hands.

Unfolded, it was a dressing gown, in a masculine cut, of heavy, navy blue silk, lined with grey satin. James drew it on, feeling the caress of the satin over his skin like Caroline’s hands. He groaned with the pleasure of it.

“You like it,” Caroline said, smiling.

“Very, very much, madam. It is my favourite present.” He fastened the buttons and tied the belt at the waist. “This is beyond extravagant, my little republican,” he observed, running his hand down the thick silk covering his arm. “Beyond sapphire pins and cashmere coats. This must have cost you a great deal, Caroline. Would the ladies’ collective approve of such extravagance?”

Caroline grinned. “Probably not. But seeing you in it, how warm it is and how well you look, wholly justifies the expense. Did you notice the embroidery?”

James peered at the sleeve, and saw the blue-on-blue embroidery, like the nautical waist-coat. But these little figures were not anchors. “Are they . . . dogs?” he asked.

“Chinese lions. It was the closest any of the milliners had.”

“Perfect, madam. Put those stinking things down and come,” he told her, gesturing to his clothes and the bed.

Caroline did willingly, leaving his discarded clothes in a pile near the clothes horse, then climbing onto the bed with him and, when he opened them, into his arms.

He folded his new dressing gown’s skirts over his bare legs, settled her in his lap and leaned back against the headboard. “Remember, behave yourself. I will not go into my bath sporting a consternation.”

“A consternation? Is that what you call it?”

“I usually call it an erection, but in this case, a consternation is more apt. Did you hear me, Caroline?”

“Yes, Sir Lion. I will behave myself until after your bath.”

“Good, now lay your head on my heart and tell me what you hear.”

She looked up into his face. “It’s not your heart I’m worried about, James.” She reached up and smoothed her fingers across his brow. “It’s your head. You’re frowning again. The way you did when you first came to me. This little line is back.” She stroked between his eyebrows. “Was yesterday so very awful?”

James took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, and no,” he answered honestly. “It could have been much worse, but it could also have been better. But what it is, is done. I cannot undo any of it.” He stroked her head onto his chest.

She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against him, her arched neck as white and graceful as a swan. “I can hear your heart,” she whispered. “It’s still strong and slow. I missed that sound so much last night, James. Do you know, I hear your heartbeat while I sleep? It’s in my dreams, that measured drumming. It gives me such comfort.”

James kissed the top of her head. “Did you have your glass of brandy before bed, as I prescribed? Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes, and I did sleep, but it’s not the same when you’re not here.”

“No, it’s not.” James stroked her hair, and twisted one of her long curls around his finger. “It’s not at all. I got no rest last night, not before my sister arrived, nor after she landed calamity in my lap. After I bathe and you deliver me the apology you owe me, I will sleep, cradled in your arms and your warm bed.”

“Oh, yes, James. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He flicked the tasselled end of her curl against her cheek. “Now tell me of your scintillating visit with Lady Cowper.”

Caroline gave a little snort. “Hardly scintillating.”

“Your terribly dull visit then. Was anything said? Are you in any danger?”

Caroline shook her head and tightened her arms around his shoulders. “A great deal was said, none of it interesting, and I am in no danger. It proceeded entirely as expected. Maria Molyneux, the Countess of Sefton, and Emily’s mother, Lady Melbourne, were there when I arrived. Such an extraordinary coincidence, the two of them calling on the same day I was coming to luncheon—”

James grunted, knowing as well as she did it was no coincidence.

“As predicted, they tried to warn me off you. They took turns explaining all the reasons that you’re unsuitable, and I nodded and explained that we’re not engaged, so your suitability matters not one whit. They talked that ‘round for at least an hour, discussing the merits and demerits of taking lovers outside polite Society. Maria Molyneux is notoriously conservative on such matters, after the scandal of her parents’ separation and her mother’s affair with some Markgraf or other while in fashionable exile. Presumably why Emily recruited her. And then there was Emily’s mother, who is fine one to talk about lovers and discretion, sitting there with a daughter who is the image of her paramour, George Wyndham. I pretended to listen and in the meanwhile enjoyed the sandwiches. Emily’s cook isn’t a patch on Mrs. Singh, but the cucumber sandwiches really were rather nice. I can’t seem to convince Mrs. Singh of the merits of cucumbers. These were salted and lightly peppered. Delicious.”

James chuckled, his mood beginning to lighten. “And then?”

“Emily’s mother stayed for cards, whist of course. Ghastly. Then dinner, which was unexceptional, then more whist, until I pled a headache and escaped early. They didn’t try to detain me. My mind was far away the whole time, and I’m sure I was poor company.”

“I doubt that,” James said. “I’m sorry it was so dull, and that you had to play whist, which I know you despise. But tell me truthfully, Caroline, was that all the ladies had to say? Was there no whisper of trouble? No mention of repercussions should you carry on with me?”

“No, nothing like that. I told you, James, no one suspects me, and even if they did, Emily would not be so unkind as to threaten my life and liberty just because she disapproves of my choice of paramour. There wasn’t even any mention of my voucher. In comparison to the behaviour of Emily’s own family, I’ve done nothing truly shocking. I’m just playing the merry widow. It isn’t a part I’ve played before, I admit, so it’s startling to my friends, but it’s not enough to have even caused comment in the morning papers.”

Reassured, James stroked her hair. “You said your mind was far away. Where was it, sweet?”

“With you, for most of it. And with your ship, for a little of it. I really could not concentrate on my cards for thinking how fine it will be to sail away with you.”

“I’m becoming quite anxious for that day as well.” James kissed the top of her head. “So you ignored the venerable ladies’ concerns?”

“I did,” Caroline confirmed. “But, I hope, not unkindly.”

“I can’t see you ever doing anything unkindly, Caroline,” James said, between kisses.

“Well, I’m not overly kind to Doctor Dumbarton, I’ll admit.” Caroline traced little circles on his collarbone with her fingertips. “I appreciate he’s a countryman, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

“I’d say your instincts are sound on that score. But he has his uses.”

“Yes, I suppose he does. Did his choleric postings deter the King’s men?”

“Perfectly. And since I know you have a soft spot for him, I will also tell you that Robert played an ingenious part in getting us past the patrol.”

Caroline smiled against his shoulder. “I’m sure he was brilliant. Like all men of his family.”

“If he was a man of your family, what would you do with him?”

She shrugged. “I’d bring him to my house so I could see to his care and education.”

“And when you sail to France?”

Caroline stroked his collar for a moment before she answered. “James, I would take him with me. But you are not me, and I cannot and do not judge what is right for you. You’ve said you would provide for him when you leave, which is more than many do for their by-blows. No one can ask more than that.”

James kissed the top of her head. “My linnet, my sweet linnet, who never judges.” _Who has such an open and giving heart that she has a place in it for everyone, even for me_. “I do intend to offer him a place on my ship, which he is free to reject or accept.”

“I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t accept,” Caroline said.

James nodded. “If he does, and if I asked you to take him under your wing, as far as the Azores, what would you say?”

“I would do so gladly. He seems a pleasant boy and I would be happy to offer him my friendship. I can teach him a little, if he’s interested. A boy should know how to read and write, mathematics and the fundamentals of science, geography and navigation. I’m conversant in all those things.”

“More than conversant,” James said, threading his fingers through her mane. “You know more than those who style themselves tutors. I don’t think I’ve ever met a better educated lady, and few better educated men. I would be proud and pleased to have you teach Robert. If you teach him on the deck, don’t be surprised if you have Atticus’s scallywags sitting at your feet as well. My ship will become a floating academy.”

Caroline gave a soft laugh. “I doubt that. The Captain’s much too harsh a task-master to allow his crew such idleness. But James, I have a favour to ask of you, too. If Robert’s to make his way in the world, he needs to know how to defend himself. How to fight. How to use a sword and knife. Will you teach him?”

“I will.”

“And while you are teaching him, will you also teach me?”

James grunted, but he’d expected, since he’d given her the knife, that she would eventually wrangle lessons out of him. “Yes, I will teach you, too, hoyden.”

She peppered kisses up his throat. “Thank you, James.”

He leaned into her sweet caresses, and cuddled her tight to his chest. He knew she wasn’t trying to arouse him, just thank him for the favour, but her touch did to him what it always did to him, and James found himself stiffening against her hip as she pressed into him.

Thinking about reprimanding her made it worse.

Caroline drew back a little against his arms. “Um, James.”

“I’m aware, madam,” he groaned. _I’m growing more aware by the second_ , he thought, feeling himself throb against her softness.

She cupped his cheek and looked up at him earnestly. “I didn’t do it a-purpose.”

“I’m not sure if that makes it better, or worse. I’ve always found your innocence an aphrodisiac.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “May I relieve your consternation? It didn’t take long last time.”

“What are you saying, madam? That I have no stamina?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t think that.”

“There’s only one relief I want for my consternation,” James told her, adjusting her in his arms so her hip pressed even more firmly against his erection. _Only one thing I have wanted since we parted yesterday_. “And that is to spend very hard in your sweet purse.”

She unbuttoned his new dressing gown and stroked him from chest to the edge of the bandage around his waist. “You will have ample opportunity to do that today, Sir Lion. I am wholly at your disposal. But let me relieve you now, so you can bathe without embarrassing poor Mr. Singh. Then you can return to bed, clean, shaven and sweet-smelling, and take me as often as you like.”

James chuckled. “I take it that I stink?”

“A little. But I am too much of a lady to mention it.”

“Yet, again, you just did,” he noted. Then, surrendering to the inevitable, he asked, “Won’t that be a distraction while you’re attending to my . . . consternation?”

“Not at all. Your nethers have their own distinct aroma, which will quite block out the smell of horses and their leavings.” She busily untied his dressing gown and slid her hand lower.

“Do they?” James chuckled. “What, pray tell, do my nethers smell like?”

Caroline tipped her head to the side as she considered. “Very male, a little sweaty, a little woodsy, and a little nutty. I’m not sure if I’d say more like walnuts or pecans or sesame, though. But something of that sort.”

“Charming,” James said.

“Actually, it is,” Caroline replied. “I found it quite enticing the first time.”

“Let’s see if you find it so this time around.”

She did, and she laved him and suckled him with even greater enthusiasm, and more confidence, than she’d had the first time she gave him his particular pleasure. James abandoned himself to her ministrations, not trying to prolong his release. When he heard Caroline’s staff moving around in the next room, he stuffed the tie of his new dressing gown into his mouth to muffle his groans, and his eventual roar of release. By the time Mr. Singh knocked on the adjoining door to announce that his bath was ready, James was pleasantly sated and reclining with his head in Caroline’s lap while she played idly with his beard.

Evidently assuming that because he was sated she was free to watch him bathe, Caroline followed him through to her sitting room, rounded the beaten copper hip bath Mr. Singh had set in front of the fire and seated herself at her writing desk.

“What do you plan to do there, madam?” James asked as he approached the tub.

She glanced up from the small pile of letters her maid had set on her desk. “Oh, may I not stay while you bathe?”

“If you behave yourself,” James consented.

He removed his robe and handed it to the Sikh, then stepped into the bath. The Sikh gestured at his waist, and James held his arms out so the man could remove the bandage and dressing. James glanced at the wound, which was healing well under Caroline’s care, despite the American’s rather inconsistent stitches. Then he sank into the hot water with a sigh.

Caroline smiled as she slit open the first letter. “I am surpassingly well behaved, sir.” She hummed to herself as she read the letter.

“How is the weather in Scotland?” James asked.

“No, it’s not from Scotland. It’s from Paris. Mr. Crawford has arrived. His personal secretary writes to say that our meeting is anticipated with pleasure. He refers to you quite specifically. Would you like to read it, James?”

He leaned back in the padded tub and let the Sikh scrub him with a long-handled brush. “I would be pleased if you would read it to me,” he said.

“Oh, it’s a little wordy. But here’s the pertinent part. ‘The August Personage is also most desirous of making the acquaintance of your traveling companion who professes an interest in the most western reaches of our fair land. The legalities of this interest must be examined as a matter of urgency, and of course, with utmost discretion.’ Is he referring to the Nootka Sound Treaty, do you suppose?”

 _Yes, I do suppose_ , James thought. “In all likelihood. How do you know of it?”

“Lady Musgrove has mentioned it several times.” Caroline tapped her finger to her lips.

 _Yet you have never asked me to see it, or even if I have it. Do you hold my interests above those of your nation now, my sweet? I think, perhaps, you do_.

“He asks if we can join them in Paris by the twenty seventh, but that’s most inconvenient. The house I’ve taken in Paris isn’t available until the first. I shall have to write him back and postpone.”

“While I have no doubt he feels the matter very urgent, a few days delay will not affect the outcome, Caroline. Do not concern yourself. You may say that I am most desirous of making Mr. Crawford’s acquaintance as well. That should allay any fears.”

Caroline smiled. “Yes, that’s very good of you, James.” She put down the letter from Mr. Crawford’s personal secretary and picked up the next letter.

“Another masculine hand,” James observed. “How many men do you have writing to you, madam?”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Dozens, sir. Nay, hundreds. But this is from a man you’re acquainted with, Mr. Alexander, my man of affairs. Well, my former man of affairs. I do hope there’s nothing wrong with the bequests.” Her brow beetled as she read the letter. “Bother.”

“Bother?” James asked as Mr. Singh gestured for him to sit forward. When he did, the Sikh scrubbed his back with the same care and attention that the man had lavished on his front, while the water around him grew grey, not just from the soap.

“Yes, bother.” She read the letter again. “Oh, dear.”

“What’s wrong?” James asked.

“There’s been a flood at the warehouse where the Bolton girls’ cloth is stored. Some of the cloth has been damaged and a claim on the warehouse’s insurance needs to be brought. Captain Carver’s written to Mr. Alexander. Mr. Alexander no longer holds my power of attorney so he cannot bring the claim. Oh, bother.” She set the letter down on her desk and tapped her fingertips against it. “Bother and blast.”

“Such language.” James chuckled. Mr. Singh finished with his back and gestured for James to lean back while Mr. Singh lathered his face. The Sikh stropped the razor once, twice, thrice, then began to carefully shave James’s cheek.

Caroline rattled the letter on her desk. “Bother is a perfectly good word for the situation.”

“Not overly descriptive,” James opined.

“Ooo, James, stop teasing me. Don’t you see? I shall be obliged to go to Bristol to bring the insurance claim. Now, with you just returned to me.”

“I do see. What a terrible nuisance. But I suspect that we will be able to manage without you for a few hours. Won’t we, Mr. Singh?” James winked at the Sikh.

The man nodded his turbaned head. “Of course, sir. Ma’am, please do not fret yourself.”

Caroline looked from one to the other, then shook her head. “Men,” she said to herself. “I shall have to be away overnight. Probably for two or three days. The insurance broker will have to come down and write up the claim, then the insurance adjuster will have to inspect the damage. It is a great bother.”

James grunted. Two or three days of Caroline away meant two or three nights of no rest. Fresh on the heels of last night, that seemed an unbearable imposition. “That is a great bother,” he agreed.

“It is! Now do you see?”

“I do. Let me think on what’s to be done.” He sat back in the bath and let the Sikh finish shaving him, mulling it over while the man trimmed his hair and moustache. When the Sikh finally finished his barbering, he rubbed a little beard oil into James’s beard, patted some emollient onto James’s freshly-shaven cheeks and neck, and, when James rose out of the bath, dried James with a warm towel before draping his new dressing gown around him. James waved him away when the Sikh offered to re-wrap his wound. It was well-sealed, no longer even seeping, and James felt no need for a bandage.

Feeling both clean and wonderfully groomed, James thanked the man before he held out his hand for Caroline. “Come, let’s discuss this bother.”

Caroline readily left her desk and took his hand. He led her into the bedroom, shut the adjoining door, then scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. At her gasping protest, he bounced her several times on his shoulder and tossed the skirts of her dressing gown over her back until her bottom and legs were creamily exposed.

“James! What are you doing?!”

“What I should have done earlier,” he responded. “When you were coercing me into promising you lessons in sharp objects. How dare you elicit such a promise from me, you shameless hoyden?” He bounced her again on his shoulder, clapped one forearm across the backs of her legs and brought his other hand down on her bottom.

Caroline gave a muffled shriek.

“And then there is the matter of you causing me a consternation, when I’d specifically warned you not to.” He spanked her soft, round arse several times while she writhed and protested that she hadn’t done anything a-purpose.

“And then!” James roared, although he was feeling anything but angry. “You propose to leave me for several days while you attend to matters of business in Bristol. You abandon me, madam, for the sake of some damp cotton!”

Caroline squealed and squeaked as he paddled her buttocks until they were hot and glowing against his palm. Then he tossed her into one of the sturdy armchairs, positioned her on her knees, flipped her dressing gown over her head and fucked her against the back of the chair until she’d twice wailed her pleasure and he was panting and spent.

James dragged her out of the chair and collapsed in front of the fire. He drew her onto his chest and held her until her trembling subsided.

“My ferocious lion,” she whispered into his neck. “Oh, my wonderful lion. Are you all right?”

“Yes, my lovely lioness,” he responded, stroking her soft hair.

“James.” She cleared her throat. “You’re not actually angry, are you?”

“No, sweet. Go to Bristol. I wouldn’t want to deprive your girls of their due. Indeed, if it comes to that, I’ll delay our departure to ensure they receive it. How could I do any less for a venture so close to your democratic little heart?”

She cuddled into him, sliding her arm around his neck. “Is there no way . . . James, I know I shouldn’t ask, but is there no way you could come with me?”

James grunted. “Not with fifty barrels of gunpowder sitting at the farm like Montezuma’s treasure, beckoning with a siren’s call, just waiting for a whisper to fall into the wrong ear. I cannot leave London until the powder is safely aboard the _Gyata_ and we are away. But I wish with everything that’s in me that I could go with you. I will find no ease or rest or peace while you are from me.”

“Oh, James.” She stroked his chest and pressed her cheek against it. “I hate leaving knowing you will be uncomfortable in my absence. You will stay here, at my house, and let the Singhs look after you, won’t you?”

James turned the offer over in his head for a moment. _She gives and gives and does not stop giving me exactly what I need, even when I don’t know I need it_. “That is very kind of you, my generous darling, but no. I have business at my offices and my father’s house that I will attend to while you’re gone. And I would feel much easier if you took Mr. Singh with you. I do not like the idea of you staying even one night at some strange inn with only your maid to protect you.”

“Well,” Caroline said slowly. “I could take my pistol—”

“Madam!” James barked.

Caroline dissolved into giggles. “Is that a _no_ , sir?”

“It is more than a _no_. It is a promise to deliver those forty waiting strokes, which will leave you unable to move and have to be carried to Bristol if you dare venture out of this house again with a firearm. What do you think you’re about, madam, gallivanting around the countryside with a pistol? Waving it like a red flag at every highwayman and gypsy on the heath? You’re trying to drive me mad. First a grass skirt and then a pistol. Best tell them to prepare me a room in Bedlam.”

Caroline smothered her wild giggles in his shoulder. “I promise I will wear more than a grass skirt.”

“Just as well. There’s nowhere to sheath a sword in a grass skirt. Or do you propose to toss a sash over your bare shoulder and dangle your sword from it like a Hussar?”

“That sounds very dashing.” Caroline giggled some more. “But probably not very practical. Can I leave my breasts bare if I wear a sash?”

James tried to tickle her, but found himself too relaxed to eek more than a few squeals out of her. “Hussy. Shameless, shameless hussy.”

When he stopped tickling her, she cuddled back across his chest. “James, I will miss you dreadfully. That’s what’s so terrible. To leave when we’re just reunited. It’s very unfair.”

James smiled up at the ceiling and rubbed his hands up and down her silk-covered back. “Now I see the true source of the bother. You will have to go several nights without being serviced by your lion. How will you endure it, madam?”

“I don’t know.” She banged her little fist on his chest for emphasis. “And it’s not just the nights. It’s the mornings. I think that’s what I resent the most. You are so very lovely in the morning. Sleepy and sweet. I adore your morning ardour.”

James chuckled. “I swear I will make it up to you. I will be waiting for you when you return, and no matter what time of day you arrive, I will ensure hours and hours of morning lovemaking. Will that placate you?”

“No.” She pouted. “Maybe, if you really will be here when I return. James, please, please, stay here. I hate the thought of you being at your father’s house alone. It’s so cold there, and I know you’ll eat nothing. Please, you can’t go for two or three days without eating. Please.”

He brushed her hair back from her face and looked into her eyes to find them brimming. “What’s this?” he asked, brushing her tears away with his fingertips.

“I can’t bear the thought of you being alone and hungry while I’m gone. Truly, James.”

“My tender-hearted darling. I survived somehow before I met you.”

“I know.” She bit her lip.

James grunted with displeasure at the idea that he’d inadvertently reminded her of the rumours of cannibalism, which he was sure she’d heard. “Caroline, I couldn’t stay here without you. How could I sleep in your bed? The empty place beside me would keep me awake all night, and your scent on the linens would torture me. Enough,” he said firmly when she opened her mouth to argue. “The answer is no. I will take another hamper from Mrs. Singh before I go. That should sustain me for weeks, if the last one was anything to go by, but if I exhaust it, I promise I’ll go to Atticus’s tavern and eat there. It will be nourishing if nothing else. And probably a far cry better than what you’ll be eating in Bristol.”

Caroline sighed. “That’s true enough. The last time I went to Bristol, I stayed at an inn where they tried to serve me pigeon pie so old the meat had gone green. Disgusting.”

“Maybe it’s you that’s in need of a hamper,” James said. “Sweet, I don’t want you to worry about me while you’re gone. And I want you to keep me apprised of your progress. You know how to reach me.”

Caroline nodded. “I will write. Will you write back to me?”

“Of course. I would never ignore you. But please understand that my responses may be bland and brief, for it is more than possible that Crown or Company will intercept and read my post. So I will say nothing of import, and I caution you to do the same. In fact, it might be wise if you wrote in code. Add one day to any date. So if you write to say that you will return Friday, then your letter should say Saturday. Is that comprehensible?”

“Yes, good sir,” Caroline said with a giggle. “It’s just like being a spy.”

“Impossible woman.” He swatted at her behind playfully. Caroline’s giggle turned into a squeak. “Ah, is someone going to have a very sore ride to Bristol?”

“You are a cad and a rogue, to abuse my behind when you know I have so many miles in front of me.” She nuzzled at the open collar of his dressing gown until she reached skin, then planted moist kisses on his collar. “I think I’ll have to take my phaeton instead of riding Bess.”

“I would not want you to forget me in the time we are parted,” James responded. “Now you have a fresh reminder. A reminder that will be with you for every bump and rut in the road, every time you sit on a hard stool in that lonely inn. You may wish to pack an extra pillow.”

“Scoundrel,” Caroline said, her voice muffled in his skin. “I could not forget you, not even for a moment, even without such a bruising reminder.”

James sank his hand into her hair, feathered his fingers through it, and drew the mass over his face so he could drown in the sweet scent. “And I must have some reminder of you to carry me through the next few very dark days. Would you shave your head for me, madam, so that I could stuff your golden mane down my shirt and wear it next to my skin while you’re gone?”

She giggled. “A hair shirt? Most purgatorial.” She lifted her head, her eyes suddenly bright. “If I shaved my head, I could wear a man’s wig—”

“No,” James groaned, smoothing her hair back into place. “I’ll countenance nothing to further your attempts to deceive all and sundry as to your gender. You will keep your mane and I will keep your breeches and all will know you for the very womanly woman you are.”

“Bother.” Caroline laid her head back on his chest. “There’s no advantage to this trip at all then.”

“Except to the ladies of the Bolton collective.” James considered for a moment. “You could leave the matter with a solicitor, although we both know that no agent would be as diligent as you in pressing the claim, and any recovery obtained would be sadly reduced by the leech’s fee. But I leave it up to you, Caroline. This is your business and as you do not interfere in mine, I will not interfere in yours. I will only say that I do not resent this little bother, and I promise you it will not alter or impede our plans.”

“Oh, James.” She slid both arms around his neck and hugged him very tight. “Thank you. No other man’s ever been so respectful of my affairs.”

James sank his hand in her hair and held her close. “You have more than earned it, Caroline. Any man would be lucky to have you as their partner, and I am very lucky that no man knows it but me. Take care of the ladies’ interests in Bristol, and I promise you a warm, sweet, sleepy reunion.”

“Very sleepy,” she said wistfully. “Since neither of us will sleep well while we’re apart, will we?”

“No, but that will make our reunion all the sweeter. When do you plan to go?”

“I will need to write to my insurance agent, pack for the journey, and send word ahead to a better inn than the Green Pigeon, but that will take no more than a few hours. I could leave by mid-afternoon.”

“While I’m loath to let you go, the sooner you leave, the sooner you return,” James observed.

“True.”

“And I have a favour to ask of you, since you are bound for Bristol.” At her nod, he continued, “Will you pack a trunk or two with things for the journey to France and leave space for something I wish to include? It takes up no more space than a lady’s gown. I would feel better if it was out of my father’s house and in a place no one will think to look.”

“Of course,” Caroline immediately agreed. “Is it the Treaty, James?”

He smiled ruefully at her insight. “Yes, my little American spy.”

“I will make sure it’s stowed safely aboard my ship. Most of my things for the journey are already packed, so it will be no trouble. That’s very clever of you, James, to separate it from your person. As I’m sure you know, both John Company and the Crown would very much like to get their hands on it.”

“To say nothing of the Americans.” He flicked the end of her nose with his finger. “I also know that I’m putting you in yet more danger by asking you to conceal it for me. I hope you know that it is a measure of the trust I place in you, Caroline. Not because I like putting you in peril.”

“I do know that, James.” She pressed kisses along his collar. “And I have something to leave with you. That I want you to have. No matter what occurs. These are yours.”

“What do you mean, no matter what occurs?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just that no one knows what the future will hold and I want you to have this. It’s for you. To take with you.”

“It’s for me, to take with me,” James said slowly. “Why? Because I will not be taking you with me?”

“No, James, no. It’s just a present. Something I want you to have because it will make me happy, knowing you have it.”

“Very well. I will take it, along with the keys to Constantinople.”

Caroline smiled. “I’m sorry I don’t have those to give you. Let me get it.”

She rose, her blonde tresses truly like a lion’s mane, kinked and ruffled and wild around her face and shoulders. She shook herself to settle her mussed dressing gown, but left her hair in that furious disarray. James decided it was his favourite style in that moment. _Well-loved, I’ll call it_ , he thought. _It will soon be all the rage in the salons and ballrooms with Caroline to model it_.

Caroline collected something from the base of his clothes horse, a small leather-bound box. When she returned to him, James sat up to take her gift.

She handed it to him shyly, and smiled when he opened it. Inside were two ropes of jewels: one of diamonds and one of rubies. The stones were smaller than the ones James had stolen in Africa and in cheap settings, but when he lifted one chain to examine it, he could see the stones themselves were very fine: lustrous and perfectly cut. A small fortune lay between his fingers.

“What is this, madam?” he asked.

“A very small part of what I have realised from selling off my shares and ventures. I converted my wealth: half into stones and half into gold. Bankers drafts aren’t accepted everywhere, you see, so I’ve made my money portable, as much as I can. I am leaving most of the gold with Mr. Rothschild, my banker. But the rest I’m taking with me, except for this, which I give to you.”

He set the jewels aside and opened his arms to her. “Caroline, this is a very generous gift, but I have no need of it, and I feel some discomfort in accepting it.”

“Why?” she asked, then lowered her eyes. “Do you feel I’m trying to buy you? I’m not. I just want you to be secure.”

“Of course I don’t think that. And I appreciate your largess.” He grunted, trying to feel his way around the niggling discomfort. “It feels like a parting gift. The way you’ve given financial freedom to your servants, and I suspect, Ginny Hawley.”

She lifted her eyes to him and James could tell she expected him to upbraid her for her bequest to her friend. When he didn’t, she lowered her eyes again.

“I just want the people I care about not to worry about money anymore,” she said quietly. “That includes you.”

James stroked her head onto his shoulder and held her close. “I’m grateful to be included in that number, madam, but I want to be clearly understood. Tell me truly, Caroline, why are you giving this to me?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a sense of unease. Since the day of our sail, actually. I can’t really put my finger on it. I can’t say why or how or where. I just feel that we will be parted. For long or short, I don’t know. I just know we will.”

“We will be parted for a very short duration while you go to Bristol and back, no more,” James insisted.

“As you say.”

 _But you don’t sound at all sure_ , James thought. “Yes, I do say,” he growled. “Promise me that this will be a short parting and that Countess Cowper and her friends have not put doubts in your head—”

“Oh, no, James, no.” Her eyes finally lifted to his and she cupped his face in her hands. “It’s nothing like that. And they haven’t. I promise you. Honestly, this is just a very odd feeling. Like nothing I have felt, well, since Felice died really. Sometimes with Felice I knew when she was about to have one of her fits. It was the feeling that you have on the water when the wind is about to change. That scudding, ruffling feeling. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” he admitted, stroking the mass of her hair. “I’ve felt it.”

“I feel that way, as though the wind is shifting. But it’s not to do with me. I feel quite steadfast.” She cuddled into his shoulder again. “I think it must be to do with you, James. Some new current is about to take hold of you.”

“Take me away from you, you mean,” James grunted.

“I don’t know. I’m not like you and Felice. I don’t have your visions. I just have a funny feeling sometimes, and I know something is about to change.”

“This will not change, madam,” James said forcefully. “You and I will not change. A few days in Bristol will change nothing, do you hear me? And although I am most appreciative of your gift, I will not accept it if you in any way mean it to be a parting gift. Am I clearly understood?”

She nuzzled into his neck. “Yes, my lion.”

“Better,” James said. “Now you will make me another promise. You will write me three times a day while you are in Bristol.” At her wordless exclamation, he smiled. “You need only write me one line if you have nothing else to report.”

“You are worse than Emily,” Caroline said indignantly. At his expression, she wriggled in his lap and grumbled, “Very well. What do you want me to write?”

“You will write, ‘I have not let go.’”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I told you to hold me very tight and not release me until I give you leave, so you will write to reassure me that you have not let go. And you better mean it, Caroline. If I sense any insincerity or uncertainty, you will find me on a fast horse to Bristol to whip you back into line.”

She giggled. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Your arse certainly wouldn’t want that.”

She batted his shoulder. “You really are a terrible man.”

“Yes, I am. Best remember that, madam, when you are tempted to toy with me.”

She looked up into his eyes. “I would never toy with you, James.”

“I know.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Get moving, you shameless hoyden, before I take you again on the floor.”


	19. Chapter 19

James left his mistress in her dressing gown, with her hair still beautifully disarrayed, at her writing desk, penning a letter to her insurance agent. He was dressed again in the beautiful clothes she’d bought for him: a snowy shirt, deep green weskit and the cashmere coat. As the day was not cold, James thought the cashmere would be warm enough to wear for a quick ride to Wapping Wall and back. But, he discovered when he mounted up and the wind off the river scoured his freshly-shaven cheeks and lifted the tails of his greatcoat, the light wool was wonderfully warm anyway.

Both he and his horse were refreshed by their visit to Harley Street. Although he’d gotten no more sleep, James felt alert and calm again, instead of beset by the frenzied, chaffing irritation he’d felt when he arrived.

 _Besides, there’s still time_ , he reassured himself. _I’ll retrieve the Treaty, return to Caroline’s, and while her maid packs and her letter puts events in motion, we’ll make love and have an hour’s sweet sleep in each other’s arms_. The thought of how he’d take Caroline, with her riding him as he thrust up into her sweet, soft body, her cream and peach skin under his hands, her hair tumbling in a golden curtain around them, her mouth locked to his while she panted and cooed in her passion, kept James smiling all the way across London.

But when he arrived at Chamber House, he found he’d run out of time.

Godfrey, frantic, rushed down the front steps and grabbed his sleeves. _Why does everyone think to grab me?_ James wondered. _Caroline is the only person who should grab me and she never would_.

James took Godfrey by the lapels to still the man and reassure him. Then he set Godfrey away from him and sent the man on his way before some Company cove saw them together. As he padded up the steps to Chamber House, he processed the unwelcome news of Farmer Ibbotson’s betrayal. _I gave the man enough gold to buy a lifetime of silence_ , he thought. _He took confession, and spilled my secrets to a man of God no more trustworthy than the lecher who abused Caroline._ James gritted his teeth. _I will need to make another public display, so all know the cost of crossing the Devil Delaney_.

“Brace!” he roared on entering the house. He heard a clatter from the back, and after a moment, the old manservant appeared.

“I need a letter urgently delivered to Marylebone. Forty-four Harley Street. Hand-delivered.”

Brace nodded. “Where is the letter?”

James ignored him. “You will not delay in delivering this letter.”

Brace held up his hands.

James grunted. “I’ll go write it.”

He clambered up the stairs to his attic room. The door to Miss Bow’s room stood slightly open and James could see her shadow moving within, but he was in no mood for the actress’s whims.

He went straight to his desk, grabbed a piece of foolscap and wrote,

_My dearest Lioness,_

_I am called away to pressing business in the country, and will not be able to return to you today. You may feel some concern about me riding into the gathering storm. Be not alarmed, madam. I promise you I will go carefully, complete my business quickly and return safely._

_I do not wish to delay your departure, as much as I begrudge the loss of our time today. The sooner you go, the sooner you return to me. I enclose that which I asked you to conceal, but I also enclose the prayer beads I carry, a gift from the African I have mentioned, who taught me to control my visions. They will act as a talisman for you, as they do for me. Keep them close and I will be close to you, as you travel your road and I travel mine. Soon, when both our roads lead back to Harley Street and I take you again in my arms, you may return them to me._

_Until we are reunited, my lioness,_

_Your Lion_

He waited until the ink had dried, then coiled the beads into the letter, folded and sealed it, and gave it along with the rolled and wrapped Treaty to Brace to deliver.

Then he mounted his horse and galloped towards the farm, racing to beat the King’s men.

*

He found the farmer first, still haunting the church where he’d made his confession, as though the house of his God could protect him from the Devil’s retribution. James silenced the man forever, then cut out the offending organ, all the while cursing the man for taking him away from his mistress and endangering all his plans. James wasn’t sure what he resented more.

Cholmondeley offered flimsy resistance, which was easily overcome by the wet gift of the farmer’s tongue. James sent French Bill and Robert to find skiffs after Cholmondeley claimed the powder could not be moved by road, while he, Atticus, Atticus’s heathen brother-in-law and the dissipated chemist carefully, carefully, so carefully carried each barrel of powder down to the river.

Three boats took the barrels, covered in tarps against the water. The farm’s millrace emptied neatly into the Fleet. With bridges and enclosures at King’s Cross and Camden, James knew the King’s men would be hard pressed to find them. They paddled slowly, making no noise, letting the river’s sluggish current carry them. James ignored the stink of the river, an open cesspit for every chamber pot and tannery from the Heath to Camden Town. He ignored the river’s contents, which squished and bumped at the sides of the skiffs. He concentrated on moving the delicate cargo to a safe place. A place that had been a prison for his mother, but would be a haven for her son.

The river took them nearly to Bedlam’s doors, all the way through Clerkenwell before the branch ended in a muddy pond. They waited until the shadows gathered, then began the slow, careful process of carrying each barrel into the abandoned hospital.

When at last the barrels were stacked and stowed, James went in search of a hackney to take him back to Hampstead to collect his horse.

Midnight had come and gone by the time he returned to Wapping Wall, after a stop at the whorehouse for a bottle of gin. He carried the bottle and a letter that Brace had left for him on the side table by the door up to his attic room. He passed Miss Bow’s door and was relieved to see it closed. Of Brace there was no sign, and he assumed the manservant had gone to bed.

After locking the door, James opened his safe and took out a stick of preserved meat, two apples and a jar of something pickled that had been in Mrs. Singh’s original hamper. After several swallows of gin to quench his thirst, he unwrapped the meat and took a bite as he opened the letter.

The letter was from Caroline, as he’d known it would be from her handwriting on the address. Her hand was as clear and unpretentious as his mistress herself. Lacking flourish or curlicue. Despite the lack of adornment, her hand was feminine, soft and flowing. _No matter how hard you try, my dove, no one will ever take you for a man_.

He spread her letter on his desk and read it while he enjoyed his meal. The meat was curried and smoked in a way that reminded James of Portuguese sausages. He wasn’t sure what the meat was, but he was sure it wasn’t pork, both by the taste and after realising the reason for the lack of pig on Caroline’s table: the Singhs didn’t eat pork, so Caroline, in her kindness, didn’t ask Mrs. Singh to cook it.

The jar contained pickled onion and red cabbage, and while James generally avoided vegetables whenever he could, he found the pickle much to his liking, and ate the whole jar, scooping out what stuck to the glass with his finger.

When he reached them, he found the apples crisp and sweet, but in the meanwhile, he read Caroline’s letter, then read it again and again.

 _My dear, most wonderful Lion_ , she wrote.

_I hope by the time you read this, your business is successfully concluded and you are safe at your father’s house. I wish, however, that you were safe at mine, and I entreat you again to stay there in my absence, although I know that you are unlikely to be moved. If you need a safe retreat at any time, my home is always open to you._

_I received your letter and its enclosures, which I will bear with me to Bristol. Your beads have joined your pearls around my neck and I will wear them against my breast to keep you as close to me as I can._

_I, too, begrudge the loss of our time together today. I have applied myself to novel modes of apology and believe I have a scheme that will bring you a great deal of satisfaction, as well as express the depths of my contrition. I am deeply resentful that I did not have the chance to demonstrate it today. If it was your amoral friend who took you away from me, please warn him to expect a severe scolding when I return._

_I hope that return will not be too long. My insurance agent has agreed to meet me at the warehouse before noon tomorrow to write up the claim, and I have hopes the adjuster can be prevailed upon to inspect immediately, although I am at his mercy._

_There is so much I would like to say to you, my dear man. Things I wish I had had the chance to say before we parted. But I know this is neither the time nor the place. If there is anything, anything at all, you need from me, you need only write and of course, it is yours._

_I will write again in the morning, as instructed, most demanding sir, but until then know that I have not let go and that I am always,_

_Your Lioness_

James ran his fingertips over the letter between readings, imagining Caroline’s pale, soft skin under his hands instead of the foolscap. He was already hard from the mere mention of her intended apology, and touching her letter only made him harder. He shifted restlessly in the chair. Lifting the letter to his nose so he could smell her perfume, either deliberately touched to the parchment or from the brushing of her wrist as she wrote, he didn’t know, but the paper with rich with the scent of orange blossoms. Her sweet smell brought him no closer to her, gave him no relief. Nor did drinking deep from the bottle of gin. Finally, taking her letter with him, he retired to the bed, took himself in hand and stroked himself to release, all the while imagining it was Caroline’s wet cunny that gripped him, her skin under his hands rather than his own.

Relief was momentary, and James soon found his belly and balls tight with need again. It was only by finishing the entire bottle of gin, and pressing Caroline’s letter tight against his heart, that he was eventually able to sleep.

*

Dawn came too soon, and with it a grey return to consciousness that James could not escape. He lay for long minutes in the creaking bed, trying to find some comfort in the old ticking and rumpled linens. He mounded two pillows and curled around them, trying to fool himself into believing they were his mistress, returned and come to soothe him back to sleep. But the pillows held none of her warmth. They did not speak softly to him or look up at him with eyes that held all the love she would not express in words.

Eventually abandoning hope of sleep, although he was still bleary and thick-headed, James climbed out of bed, dressed in the clothes Caroline had given him to keep her close, and went in search of more gin.

Brace caught him on the way down the stairs. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” James told him. “I expect three letters today, probably by express post. Leave them there.” He pointed at the hall table. “Do not open them. I will know.”

“When will you return?”

James shrugged.

“What if someone needs to find you?”

“I will find them,” James said, shutting the front door behind him.

His horse, lacking the tending it was used to from Caroline’s groom, seemed as little happy to see him as he had been to see the dawn. It blew at him when he saddled it, puffed out its sides to make the girth strap too loose as he saddled it. James was wise to equine tricks and waited until it blew out before tightening the girth. He patted his horse on the nose, promising he’d find it an apple on his quest for gin.

He rode first to his offices and found a small spot of cheer in his otherwise dismal day. A long planked box had been delivered and within, nestled in straw, he found the three sea-watches he’d ordered from Edward Dent’s company, based on the design of the venerable John Harrison, at a cost which would have made his balls clench and his eyes water had he not been buying them with coin from stolen diamonds. James turned the large, heavy watches over and admired their fine casings, although the complex workings within were hidden. He handled them reverently, even though he knew they were uncommonly sturdy and able to handle the roughest pitching and yawing aboard ship, without losing more than a fraction of a second. With the sea-watches, he wouldn’t have to rely on lunar reckoning and Euler’s tables, and could be confident of navigating the open ocean from the Azores to the Americas. _Charleston_ , he thought. He’d long planned to land in Charleston to re-provision and gather enough crew for the arduous journey around Cape Horn and up the far coast of the Americas.

 _Or, perhaps_ , he thought, turning one handsome sea-watch over in his hands, _Philadelphia. Caroline said she had no intention of returning to her birthplace, but she might change her mind if I offered her passage and a chance to visit her brother_. _I’d like to meet the man, and thank him for his role in rescuing Caroline from the lecher, and reassure him that I will take excellent care of her._

James didn’t examine too closely the fact that Caroline had only agreed to accompany him to the Azores, and that her plans beyond that destination were still a mystery. _I will change her plans, whatever they are_ , he told himself as he settled the large watch back in its straw. _She will stay with me, and be my linnet and my love, wherever I go_.

He re-packed the sea-watches and set the planked top back on the box, then piled the atlases he’d assembled on top of the box. He’d move them to the _Gyata_ at the last moment. The watches were a treasure, and a tempting target for any thief. They were safer in his locked offices than on the ship under the dubious guard of Atticus’s ruffians.

Thoughts of his ship resolved him to deal with business before drowning the rest of his day in gin. He picked up the letters that had been delivered to his office. He leafed through them quickly. He set aside two accounts to pay, and tossed most of the rest into the fire, including several offers of supplies that did not interest him, one so badly spelled it made him chuckle despite his bleak mood, and a request from someone named George Chichester, King’s Commissioner, for a private interview. He paused over the last letter. It was a notice, addressed in Zilpha’s hand, of Mr. Thorne Geary’s funeral, at the Parish Church of St. Luke’s Chelsea, at three o’clock on Sunday, 16 October, the year of our Lord 1814.

James set the notice on his desk and tapped his gloved fingers against it. _I do not have to go_ , he thought. _Whatever I owed her – whatever I owed_ him _– ended when I concealed her crime. I owe neither of them nothing_.

But the image of a resurrectionist carving open Geary’s body as the anatomist had carved open his father’s body rose behind James’s eyes, and he knew he did owe Geary one last duty.

Sickened, although he wasn’t sure whether it was by the image of Geary’s autopsy or the ties that bound him to his past and would not let go, James pocketed the notice and went in search of more gin.

*

By mid-afternoon, with one bottle of Helga’s gin inside him and another in his hand, he returned to Chamber House. His head felt both thick and light. The ringing of church bells at noon had started a tympanic echo in his ears that hadn’t abated even after the bells stopped. His stomach clenched and chewed on the cheap gin, and he knew he needed something else from Mrs. Singh’s hamper or he’d soon vomit all he’d downed into the gutter and have to start over in his quest to drink himself unconscious.

His horse, wholly disgusted with the lack of apples, or the fumes of James’s breath, or both, stamped and blew at him as he unsaddled it. He left it tied to the house’s hitching post and ran his hand down its nose in a sodden apology. “Brace will take care of you,” he promised it.

The horse’s disgruntled whinny at his back told him the horse didn’t believe him.

 _I wouldn’t believe me, either_ , he thought, weaving his way up the house’s steps.

Within, two letters lay on the side-table. He snatched them up. One was addressed to Miss Bow, but the other was from Caroline. He tucked it into his shirt as he turned towards the stairs.

“Company men came. Again,” Brace said from behind him.

“Did they ask for me?”

“No. They searched the house, particularly the river hatch. They broke a chair.”

James nodded, not caring about chairs. “Where is Miss Bow?”

“In her room. She expects me to take her up luncheon.”

“Do so,” James said. “And while you’re at it, see to my horse. He needs to be rubbed down, fed and watered. And give him an apple. He likes apples.”

Brace threw a rag onto the side table. “So now I’m to play groom as well as lady’s maid. Shall I bring you up luncheon, too?”

“No,” James said. “And I’m not to be disturbed unless there’s another letter. Slide it under the door.”

“James, what in God’s name is going on?” Brace demanded.

James reeled a little, losing his balance, and clamped a hand on the balustrade to keep himself upright. “Death,” he answered. “Waiting, and death.”

“Whose death?” Brace demanded.

“Geary’s.” James took the notice out of his pocket and showed it to the manservant.

“She’s alone, then,” Brace said, watching James warily.

James nodded.

“James—”

James shook his head, then raised the bottle of gin and shook it so the liquid within sloshed. “Going up to my room. Don’t forget my horse.”

James turned and hauled himself up the stairs with his free hand, clutching the bottle of gin in the other.

In his room, after locking the door, he stripped down to his linen, not knowing why except that clothes had become too confining, too big a burden on him, chafing his skin even though he knew in a dim corner of his brain that he’d never worn finer fabrics. He unlocked his safe and took out a jar of pickled herring, then retreated to the window and sat in it, curled around his fish, his gin, and his letter.

He ate the fish between swigs of gin, grimacing as neither complimented the other, and read Caroline’s letter.

 _My dearest Lion_ , she wrote.

_I enclose my fresh direction and hope that if you have sent any letters to my previous accommodation, they do not go astray. Although not quite as awful as the Green Pigeon, it became quite impossible for me to stay at my first accommodation after Maria found rat droppings in the bed. A dirty bed I could have endured; Maria’s screams should Mr. Rat have returned in the night, I could not._

_I have moved to a small inn on the front run by a Mrs. Bessington. She only takes lady lodgers, which I suspect will please you, and while somewhat curt, is an impeccable housekeeper. I have no fears for what is in the bedclothes, even if I fear catching a chill from the landlady’s manner._

_I hope you were able to sleep last night. Alas, I was not. I tried to soothe myself by reading, first Milton and when that increased my agitation, Mr. Blake. But his poems only served as a sharp reminder of the happy times we have spent reading him together, and of our current separation. I am so tempted, James, hour by hour, to climb back in my carriage and return to you. But I know the Bolton girls deserve better, and that this is perhaps the last way in which I might help them. That is all that keeps me here, so far from you._

_There is also the small matter of my posterior, so terribly sore that the deeper ruts in the road to Bristol brought tears to my eyes. You really are a very bad man, James. I should like another day for the bruises to fade before I attempt the journey back. Either that or I shall have to find a maker of down cushions in Bristol and order a very great stack to pad out my carriage seat. I shall spend today applying myself to schemes of retribution for my badly bruised behind, rather than expressions of contrition. Gird yourself, sir. My vengeance shall be the stuff of legends._

_I must go now and meet with my insurance agent. I toured the warehouse last night before retiring and fear the shipment is entirely lost. The floodwaters stained the cloth, but that might have been rectified with careful cleaning. Since the flood, a greyish stain has grown on the cloth, which seems to me to arise from the paint of the pallets on which the cloth was stored. That is entirely due to the warehouseman’s negligence, I believe, but I suppose that will be for the adjuster to decide. I only hope I can get the girls their due._

_I will write again after luncheon and send my letter by express post so you have it before dinner. I know you will not respond to each of my letters, but I would so like to hear from you, and be sure that you are not suffering in my absence._

_Until I do, I have not let go, and I remain ever,_

_Your Lioness_

James re-read the lines about the rat droppings, and her description of her bruised arse, and chuckled to himself. Then he re-read the section about her sleeplessness and sighed. He let his head loll back against the curved window-frame and took another deep pull on the bottle of gin. _We are neither of us any good apart_ , he thought. _But if I leave London, and Company or Crown discovers the powder when I am too far away to rescue it, then all my effort has been for naught. And Caroline has her duty to her girls. I would not think any less of her if she shirked it, and left it to others, but I think all the more of her that she does not. My brave, big-hearted lioness_.

He rose and staggered to his desk. Taking out a piece of foolscap and a quill, he wrote,

_Dearest Lioness,_

_No, I have not slept. The bed, which was too small for me even as a boy, is too big and cold without you. It gave me no rest. I had no poetry, or even Milton, to soothe me. I hoped juniper berries might prove soporific, but their juice has only left me weary and muddle-headed. You will forgive me if this letter is incomprehensible, or if I lapse into another tongue. My mind wanders._

_This morning, I went to my family offices and discovered a delivery that gave me a moment’s pleasure. I will show it to you when you return, and you can impress me with your knowledge of advanced navigation. What is a degree when it has no warmth, madam? Answer me that and I will spare you one or two of the strokes of my belt that await you on your return._

_As for your bottom, I have no fear of your paltry vengeance. I am in the right, and have delivered only just punishment for your insupportable cheek. You are an insurrectionist and a mutineer, madam, and you have more than earned the forty lashes that await you. I believe I shall tie you to the bed while I deliver them, and we will see what retribution you can manage bound, and perhaps, gagged._

_I eagerly await your return. As does my belt, and necktie._

_Until then, I am,_

_Your most devoted Lion_

James read his letter, burped, and sat back in his chair. _Is it too harsh?_ He wondered blearily. _Too much when we are not together, for me to reassure her that I tease and torment her only?_

He bent back to the paper, and added a post script. _Or, if you ask me very nicely, on your knees, I will kiss and lick and soothe away every bruise before I deliver the promised morning loving. Use all your wiles to hasten your agent and the adjuster, madam. I am lost without my sunlight_.

James folded and sealed the letter before he thought better of his admission, then found her new direction and addressed it. He finished the bottle of gin, dressed in old clothes that were no less strangling than the new ones, and staggered out of the house, ignoring Brace’s shouted queries.

He roamed the streets for some time, while the day turned to rain. He finally found a postmaster’s office and paid nearly as much as he had for the watches to send his letter special express to Bristol. The postmaster gazed at him wide-eyed, and leaned far away when James handed him the letter. _I either stink of horse-shit again, or of gin_ , James thought. But the man took his coin, and with his letter safely on its way, he returned to the street.

He found himself on Wapping Wall, mid-way between the Dolphin and the whorehouse. Reckoning that he was easier to find at the Dolphin, and the gin might be slightly better, James staggered in the direction of the tavern.

His head began to clear as he walked. _That won’t fucking do_ , he thought, because as soon as the fog cleared, his cock began to pound and his balls to throb. _This time yesterday, I was fucking my mistress over the back of a chair_ , he thought. _I was watching those sweet pink netherlips kiss my shaft as I fucked up into her and she was writhing and whimpering as her passage clenched and clutched at me, and I knew nothing but bliss_.

Now he knew nothing but pain, in his head as his temples pounded, in his back from sleeping on the old, sagging bed, in his groin as it ached for his mistress and the pleasure he’d become accustomed to several times a day. Even the wound in his side, which had seemed all but healed when he was with Caroline, decided to add its gnawing complaint to the chorus.

 _Fuck it all_ , he thought. _I need more gin_.

*

The tavern was busy, and grew busier as James claimed a corner not far from the fire and worked his way through another bottle of gin. Atticus was not in evidence when he arrived, but his sister, whom everyone called Mrs. Martinez, knew James’s face and served him without comment or request for coin. French Bill arrived approximately mid-bottle and took up station not far away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head when James offered him a drink, and James realised he was on duty.

“ _Wo ye kwasi_ ,” James cursed him, but without rancour.

Bill tipped his hat. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any more of them biscuits about you?”

James shook his head before tilting it, impossibly heavy, back against the wall. “She’s gone.”

“Mrs. Grant? Where’d she go?”

“Away, on business,” James grunted.

“She’s a lady,” Bill said, as though that disproved James’s statement.

“That she is. The rarest and most wonderful of ladies, who can out think, out work, outmanoeuvre, out shoot, out sail and out fuck any man. You keep your mind off her. She’s mine.”

Bill tipped his hat again. “Aye, sir.”

James kicked over a bench in frustration. “If she’s mine, then she should be here with me,” he growled. “So where is she?”

“Away,” Bill echoed. “On business.”

James cursed him again, with scrofulous balls and pustulent prick.

Bill’s teeth flashed in the bush of his moustache and beard. “That’s a good one. ‘Aven’t heard that word before, _scrofulous_.”

James grunted, not even aware he’d spoken in English. “Fuck you, then. How’s that for a word you’ve heard before.”

“Aye, sir, that’s one I’ve heard before.”

Giving up on baiting the man, James leaned back against the wall and sank into a grey haze.

Atticus’s arrival, some indeterminate time later, roused James. Bill was gone, relieved of duty, and Atticus placed a horn cup on the table in front of James, while he sat with his own cup and a pile of roasted ribs in a dark, sticky-looking sauce.

“Bill says your lady’s gone away, and that you’re in a right foul temper. But he admires your linguistic knowledge. ‘Ave some of that.”

James picked up the cup and drank without question, then spewed the foul concoction across the table. “Are you trying to poison me?” he growled.

“That’s good cabbage water, rabbit dung and chook’s eggs, that is. Best thing for a man ‘oo’s sour in his cups. Drink up.”

“Fuck you,” James growled, pushing the cup across the table and wishing desperately for some of Mrs. Singh’s _masala chai_ , which he felt truly was the best thing for him at the moment, but was so very, very far out of reach. “Poison me again and I will throttle you until you’re blue.”

Atticus ignored him as he drank out of his own cup and started on the ribs.

“Pigs are more intelligent than a horse, more loyal than a dog, and more clever than most men,” James growled, surveying Atticus’s meal.

“Taste better, too,” Atticus said.

“They also wallow in their own shit. You’re eating meat marinated in shit, Atticus.”

Atticus shrugged. “Tastes good. Rabbits eat their own shit. They taste good, too. Don’t lecture me, James me boy, particularly not after what I ‘ear you’ve stuffed down your gullet.”

James took out one of his knives, worked it in his gloved hand for a moment, then used the tip to begin carving on the table.

“Not another one of them odd birds,” Atticus grumbled. “Me sister’s right upset about that. Says it scares her. Wants me to make her a new table.”

James ignored him as he carved the snake that began the world. “It’s different,” he said after he completed the head.

“What’s different?”

“The _Asante_ eat their enemies as a mark of respect for them, and to take their enemies’ power and strength into themselves,” James said, continuing to carve.

“You ain’t an Assame, whatever you just said.”

“ _Asante_ ,” James enunciated as clearly as he could, although he knew he was slurring. “I was their slave, captured in battle. Slaves who are strong enough fight for them. Battle fodder.” James hung his head for moment as the gin took him back to the forests of Lake Volta, under the _Upas_ trees, with the cuckoos and monkeys calling overhead. He could smell the baking bread smell of the grass savannahs, cooking under Africa’s blistering sun, and the hard coppery stink of roasting human flesh. “Being included in one of their ceremonies where they eat the dead is the highest honour.”

Atticus watched him warily for a moment. “Not sure that’s an honour I’d want, meself. How often were you . . . honoured?”

James shrugged. He didn’t remember. “Often. It took five years, before I won my freedom. I stayed with them for another year, fighting for them as a freeman, collecting my own slaves, before took my first string to the coast to trade.” He looked around in annoyance. “Where’s the fucking gin? Isn’t this a fucking tavern?”

“Yes, it’s a tavern and yes, we ‘ave gin, but before you ‘ave any more, tell me how many bottles you’ve had already.”

“None of your fucking business, Atticus.”

“I’d call that three. That sound like three to you?” Atticus asked, nodding at Bill, who’d reappeared behind James with a plate of bread and sops and another bottle of gin. Bill nodded back before putting the plate and bottle in front of James.

James grunted in acknowledgement.

“Four bottles of gin’ll put most men in the ground, me boy. May I suggest that before you drink that, you eat some of the bread?”

James grimaced and grumbled, but mashed the bread around in the greasy gravy and took a bite. It was nothing up to Mrs. Singh’s standard, but the bread was fresh, and the sops were from a roasted leg of beef, so there was some taste to it. James ate another two pieces of gravy-soaked bread before he opened the bottle of gin and took a swig.

“Better?” Atticus asked, gnawing on a rib bone.

James shrugged. As long as he kept drinking, he didn’t feel any pain, although he didn’t feel much pleasure, either. The rot-gut just kept the pain back, growling at the back of James’s head, at the very ends of his nerves, rather than swamping him. It kept the visions at bay, too, but only just. They were right there, flickering at the edges of his vision. A ruffle of crow feathers along the shoulders of a dark-suited man who brushed by him. A bawd’s mouth opening too wide as she laughed at something her customer said, wider, splitting into a scream, with her eyes gone dark and mad. When James looked directly at her, it was just a painted whore, laughing. He shook it away, but knew the visions were waiting for him. Only one thing purged them, cured him, and it was not in the bottle he held to his lips.

“D’you have a boy?” he asked Atticus.

Atticus shook his head. “Lost my boy to the croup near on five year ago now, and his mother when she tried to give me another. Why?”

James took another swig of gin as he processed Atticus being a husband and a father. He wondered if the man had been any good at either. “A tavern boy,” he clarified.

“’Course. Young Solly. What d’you want him for?”

James fished a ha’penny out of his pocket and put it on the table. “Send him to Chamber House and collect my post. If Mr. Brace questions him, tell him to say I left him with instructions to find my horse an apple. He’ll know the boy comes from me, then.”

“You expectin’ a letter, James?”

“None of your business.”

“Expectin’ a letter from ‘er, then,” Atticus mumbled. He turned and snapped his fingers in the direction of the tavern’s long, wooden bar. After a minute or two, a boy a little younger than Robert appeared at Atticus’s side, took the coin and Atticus’s directions, and disappeared again.

James settled back into his bottle. “Why didn’t you marry again?” James asked Atticus at length, propping his head on one hand as he continued to drink.

“Few’d have me and those that did, I wouldn’t want. I’d make an exception for your Hindi lady, though.”

“Sikh,” James corrected him automatically, if soddenly. “Sikh, the ones that wear the turbans.”

“She wear a turban?” Atticus asked.

James shook his head. Mrs. Singh had been wearing English dress when he’d met her, and other than her lustrous black hair and eyes, was unremarkable-looking. “She doesn’t want to marry again,” James told the old sailor.

“The cook? Thought she was already married.”

“Mrs. Grant,” James clarified, between swigs of gin.

Atticus finished worrying one bone and picked up another. “Why not? Right pretty lady. Should have a husband to take care of her.”

“I’ll take care of her,” James growled. “She doesn’t want to be under a husband’s control. She’s too used to her freedom. And she doesn’t trust gentlemen. She’s been badly used . . . in the past.”

“Well, you’re ‘ardly a gennelman. She seemed ‘appy enough, on your arm, and Bill says she was coo-ing all over you on your ship. What’s the problem?”

“Wanting to fuck me and wanting to be my wife are two very different things, Atticus.”

The old sailor shrugged and wiped his hands. He reached across and patted James on the arm. “Why d’you want a wife, anyway? You’re bound for the Americas. Plenty of fresh Colonial lasses there to catch your eye.”

 _I don’t want a fresh Colonial lass. I want my lioness_ , James thought. _And I want everyone to know she’s mine_.

“Where’s your fucking boy, anyway?” James snarled, kicking Atticus under the table. “Did he crawl to Chamber House?”

“You’re a right nasty drunk, you know that?” Atticus grumbled back. “’E’ll be back, by an’ by. Don’t you worry. Tell me what that is.” Atticus nodded at the half-carved symbol on the table between them. “Take your mind off your troubles.”

“The snake that began the world,” James told him, pulling open his collar so Atticus could see the matching tattoo on his pectoral. He left his collar loose as he slurred, “The _Asante_ believe that in the beginning of all things, there was only darkness. Then the Sky-God made the sun, to split the day from the night. The snake was jealous of the sun’s light, so it swallowed the sun. But the sun burned its innards, so it spat the sun out back out, along with its burned insides, and those became the world.”

Atticus whipped out his book and a stub of charcoal and wrote furiously.

“What else they say?” Atticus asked.

“Many things. I was there for ten fucking years.” James took another pull from the bottle and found it empty. “More gin.”

“You’ve ‘ad enough,” Atticus said, without looking up from his scribbling. “Tell me what else they say.”

“Give me another fucking bottle of fucking gin, Atticus,” James growled.

Atticus put his stub in the page and folded his book around it. He laid the book on the table between them and patted it, then looked up at James. “I said, you’ve ‘ad enough. You want more gin? Go somewhere else. I’m not ‘aving you cuttin’ off another man’s thumb or tearin’ out another man’s heart here at Dolphin ‘cause you’re lovesick over a fancy lady ‘oo only wants you as a ewe wants a ram—”

James punched the old sailor in the face.

An arm wrapped around his neck from behind, Bill, James would later discover. But in the moment, he saw no faces and knew no friends. He only knew black rage, black need, black hate. He struggled against the restraining arm, jabbing with his elbow and smashing his head back into the man behind him. Bill was spared a broken nose only because he was standing while James was sitting. The man still grunted in pain as James’s head cracked against his chest. A pair of hands grabbed James’s arm and pinned it to the table, trapping the blade he was holding in that hand against the wood.

Atticus staggered up from the table, fumbling his neckerchief off and using it to mop his bleeding nose.

“I told you, you’d had enough! Now look what you’ve done. Go home, James! Go home and sleep.”

James strained against the arms holding him and snarled across the table. “I can’t!” he roared. “I can’t sleep without her!”

Atticus shook his head. Then he looked at the man behind James and nodded.

A blow cracked across the back of James’s head. He reeled, blinked once, and then slumped into darkness that stank of juniper berries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter put my research skills to the test. 
> 
> So I could put a church on the death notice James receives, I spent several hours trying to figure out where Thorne Geary would have been buried. Knowing that most people in England during the Regency period were buried in their local parish church, I began looking for an address for the Gearys to give me an idea of what parish they would have belonged to. In one of James’s letters to Zilpha in Episode Three, her address can be seen: Buckland Place, Chelsea. I think this is a fictional address (I’m pretty sure Chamber House is, too). Having poured over William Darton’s superb New Plan of the Cities of London & Westminster, 1817 (which was my guiding light in figuring out street addresses, distances, etc. as I wrote “Beguiled”), I can’t see a Buckland Place (or even a Buckland Street) in Chelsea. This left me with no reference point as to what the Geary’s parish church would have been. However, Chelsea as a parish was not particularly big (Chelsea itself being not heavily populated at the time). There were only a couple of churches in it, and St. Luke’s seemed to handle most of the deaths. St. Luke’s also fit the bill in that it was an Anglican church, and Anglican priests did perform rites of exorcism, like the one that Thorne puts Zilpha through in Episode Five (where I’m not sure the C of E was doing exorcisms in 1814 – I couldn’t find any references to it if they were). So St. Luke’s it was.
> 
> The next challenge was putting a date on the notice of death. I’ve struggled all along to figure out what month(s) “Taboo” is set in. I’ve looked for date references in all of the episodes, including enlarging letters the characters write and receive, the depositions James and Godfrey leave for Chichester, and the military report Coop reads in Episode Eight. I can’t see a date on anything. If anyone has better eyes than I do and spots a date reference, let me know! I’ve always thought the show was set later than June, because there was a huge political event in June 1814 with the visit of the Allied Sovereigns, which would have wholly preoccupied the Prince Regent and his staff, but it had to be before December when the Treaty of Ghent was actually signed. Going off the scenery is uncertain, because as anyone who lives in the UK knows, there’s a long (wet) growing season here. The scenes at the farm where the trees are clearly in full leaf, and the scene where Thorne Geary walks back into the house after the duel in Episode Five, where the garden is in flower, could take place anywhere from May to late October in the UK. (I also appreciate that the show’s creators would have had practical difficulties showing a consistent seasonal setting, as they were shooting over several months.) However, there are two outdoor scenes that show a lot of fallen leaves (when James visits his mother’s grave in Episode Three and another scene where James is riding his horse down a street covered in leaves in Episode Four). This places “Taboo” mid-autumn (October) or later. I don’t think it could be much later, however. James is in and out of the water in various episodes, and even a big body of water like the Thames (which retains a correspondingly larger amount of heat), would have been freezing cold by November. I don’t know how dedicated the show’s creators were to historical accuracy, but I’ve looked at the weather records for 1814. It was a cold year overall (the 7th coldest year on record) and by November, the average daily temperature was down to 4C (39F). The nights would have dropped below freezing, making a dip in the river unbearable, and in the night-time scenes, the characters’ and horses’ breaths should be steaming, which they aren’t. This led me to place my story in early October, but I’m certainly willing to entertain any argument as to a different month!
> 
> Finally, there were the bloody sea-watches, which I was aware of from watching the excellent adaptation of Dava Sobel's novel, "Longitude," some years ago, and seeing a couple of them at the exhibit in Greenwich (http://www.rmg.co.uk/see-do/we-recommend/attractions/harrisons-marine-chronometer-h1), but I really didn't understand why they weren't in common use by 1814, since they represented such a signficant navigational advance. I should have remembered my Economics 101 and recalled that although supply and demand are King, cost is Queen. Marine chronometers were hideously expensive to manufacture. Most merchant vessels couldn't afford them until the prices came down mid-century. With such a limited market, there were very few watchmakers manufacturing the chronometers, but fortunately London is one of those places where even businesses have a keen sense of history and I was able to find Edward Dent's watchmaking company (now Dent & Co.), which had just opened its doors in 1814 and was a proud supplier of the new technology.


	20. Chapter 20

When he woke, he was on the floor, with his brains threatening to explode out of his temples in one direction and out of the knot on the back of his head in the other. James groaned and closed his eyes again.

“’E’s awake.” Bill’s voice. Even through the pain, James could recognise the Cockney.

James blinked and struggled upright. A blanket had been thrown over him; it fell to his waist as he sat up. A guttering fire and weak moonlight showed him French Bill, sitting in a chair close to the fire, his coat and weskit unbuttoned, his boots off and feet stretched to the fire. There was a huge bruise on Bill’s upper chest, purple-black in the firelight.

Atticus hove into view from where he’d been lying on a cot on the far side of a room James didn’t recognise. The sailor’s nose was impressively swollen and he had a rime of black under one eye. “How’re you feelin’?” he asked.

“Like my head’s about to split. Where am I?”

“Back room of the Dolphin. You’re right ‘eavy when it comes down to it. None of us wanted to carry you far, so Bill dragged you in ‘ere, out the way.” Atticus threw a mouldy-smelling cushion at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep, Atticus, I was unconscious. Did the boy return with my letters?”

“Aye, two of ‘em. They’re there.” Atticus nodded and James followed his line of sight down to where two letters lay between his knees.

James picked them up and held them to his nose to catch Caroline’s scent. It was fainter, the letters having passed through several hands, but there was that sweet, floral edge. He lay back on the smelly cushion and held the letters to his chest.

“That’s it,” Atticus said soothingly. “She’s with you now. Go back to sleep.”

James let his heavy, aching eyelids close, and to his surprise, sleep’s grey veil did draw itself immediately over his mind.

*

When he woke again, he was alone. The fire had been built up and thin daylight filtered through the room’s round window. On the floor beside him, there was a plate of dry-looking oatcakes and a bottle of liquid James assumed was not gin. Caroline’s two letters were still tucked into his shirt, and they rustled against his skin when he sat up and propped his back against the wall.

The percussion in his temples and crown that he hadn’t felt while unconscious started a fresh drum-roll. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, but that only made him aware of every ache from eyebrow to elbow. His mouth was as dry as autumn grass and his tongue felt too big for his mouth when he tried to move it. A piss hard-on ached and strained against his stomach, which bubbled spitefully, preparing to void from one end or the other, as soon as James moved too abruptly.

James reached out and snagged the bottle, uncorked it and took a swig, and refrained from spitting it out only by a monumental act of will. It was a thin vinegar. He swallowed it, and felt it trickle down his throat to sit sourly in his already sour stomach. He took an oatcake from the plate, chewed it and had to chase the sawdust mouthful with another drink of vinegar. He kicked the plate away and set the bottle aside in disgust.

He began to haul himself up and heard again the rustle of the letters. With a sigh, he settled back against the wall and broke the seal on the first letter.

It was just three lines.

_My dearest Lion,_

_I have not let go._

_Your Adoring Lioness_

James checked the postmark. She’d sent it after luncheon, when she’d said she would write, but when she’d had nothing new to report.

The second letter was longer. James knew it as soon as he cracked the seal, as it was two sheets of paper. She’d taken longer over it, too. The smell of orange blossoms was richer, fuller, from prolonged contact with her wrist. James managed a tiny smile when her scent filled his nose.

 _Dear most magnificent but not at all terrifying Lion_ , she wrote.

_Ah, good sir, I received your letter with gratitude. I had begun to worry that your business was neither quickly nor safely concluded. I am very pleased to learn that you are returned to your father’s house, although hearing of your insomnia, I beg you reconsider your accommodation. I can offer you a comfortable bed, at the very least, and many volumes of poetry and philosophy to soothe you if you cannot sleep. They are a far better soporific than gin, which always gives me the most dreadful nightmares, so I hope you are not over-indulging in my absence._

_I have tried to hasten my return as much as possible, but the insurance adjuster could not be prevailed upon to hasten his inspection, even though my agent was very diligent in presenting my claim. I am afraid I have at least one more night here in Bristol._

_As for your query, a degree has no warmth when it is an angle, and since you refer to navigation, I must presume that your delivery is equipment for determining location at sea. I have amused myself today, while enduring endless explanations of the complexities of assurance, pondering what it could be. Surely you already have a sextant; even if not, such a common piece of equipment would not warrant a special delivery. I must think, therefore, that what has arrived is more rare and valuable. Could it be that you have commissioned a marine chronometer? I can hardly countenance it, as I know their outrageous expense. Even Richard balked at the cost when he was fitting out his ship and made poor Captain Carver rely on the old method of lunar distance. Am I right? I beg you write me and tell me whether I am or not, and not leave me in suspense until my return. I am very eager to see it if I am, as I have only heard about marine chronometers, but never seen one for myself._

_If my deductions are proven true, may I bargain for a reduction in sentence? If I beg you on my knees, can I reduce my punishment to five strokes? The last five, plus the reprimand you rained on me before we parted, have left me so tender I had to send Maria for cushions to soften the wooden chair they allotted me at the warehouse. I had some hope for a hot bath on my return to the inn, but am told by the severe landlady that no such extravagances are available. Alas, such relief will have to wait until I return. Along with release from the rather terrible ache from which I suffer without my lion’s fiercest attentions, which kept me tossing and turning in my bed until dawn. You told me that no one has ever died from wanting, and I must believe you, for I know your scrupulous adherence to the truth, but if that is the case, I fear I may be the first._

_I have written three times today, as commanded, and will send this letter by express as well so you know I have kept my word. I descend now to dinner, of which I have no high hopes. The landlady, while a diligent housekeeper, has no talent in the kitchen. I intend to write you once more before bed, although it will not reach you today, if only to say good-night, my Prince of Lions, my sweet prince._

_I have not, and will never, let go, and remain,_

_Your Lioness_

James pressed the parchment to his face. It was cool against his fevered, sweaty skin. As cool as Caroline’s soft hands and for a moment, she soothed away the pounding in his temples and neck and back and cock. The cessation of pain, and its sudden return when he lowered the letter, was so sharp that James retched, bringing up a mouthful of oat, vinegar and bile. He swallowed it back down, choking, and wiped his mouth with a shaking hand.

The gritty, rank taste of river-water filled his mouth. The grey daylight washed to a murky green as James felt himself sink. The pounding in his head, impossibly, increased, and his lungs screamed, desperate for air.

James scrambled up off the floor. His legs gave out from under him and he reeled, grabbed at the wall for support, and righted himself, gasping. Realising he’d dropped Caroline’s letters, he looked around for them and found they’d fallen into the fire. He snatched the burning paper out and patted out the flames, singeing his palm in the process.

He cradled the half-burnt sheets in his blistered hand. He was too dry and thirsty for tears; too drained and sick for rage. He shoved the sheets into his shirt, pulled his glove over his burned hand and staggered out into the main room of the tavern. It was empty, so he pounded on the bar until the boy who’d played mailman appeared and gave him the bottle of gin he demanded. James slapped a handful of coins onto the bar and staggered out into the street.

*

The day outside the Dolphin was raw: a biting wind blew off the river, freezing the sweat on his cheeks and neck. James kept the cold at bay by gulping down half the bottle of gin as he staggered along the Wall. A rush of blood to his head finally stilled the pounding there, and silenced the tympani in his groin.

Checking every pocket twice finally yielded his watch, which told him the time was eleven o’clock, which explained the empty tavern and streets. _It’s Sunday morning_ , James thought soddenly, _and all the hypocrites who drank and fornicated last night are in church, renouncing the sins they enjoyed last night_.

He finished the bottle of gin on his walk to Chamber House. He checked on his horse, which blew and nickered at him, before slipping in the river hatch. The house was still and quiet in a way that spoke of no human occupants, although James saw a rat slip into a shadowed corner of the kitchen as he climbed the stairs. _All gone to church_ , James thought, _to pray to deaf stone_.

On the table by the front door, James found another letter from Caroline, which he took with him as he climbed up into the attic.

His safe yielded the last of the bounty from Mrs. Singh’s hamper, a pot of corned beef that James gratefully ate, sprawled on his bed to ease the ache of his back from sleeping on hard flags. He shucked off his clothes, one item at a time, until he lay in just his linen. He pulled a moth-eaten blanket over his legs and cracked open Caroline’s letter with one hand, briefly closing his eyes as her scent rushed up to him. He wrapped his cock in the other and began stroking.

What he read made him stop his motion.

_Dearest Lion,_

_I enclose my fresh direction. Yes, a third inn in as many days. My luck with inns is as little as with insurance, it seems._

_I descended to dinner to find no table, but a very supercilious landlady, awaiting me. Mrs. Bessington informed that rumours of a most scandalous nature had reached her ears. She had been told that I was no true Christian lady, but a sinner who did not attend church, and who entertained an unmarried man in my home. She refused to repeat the rumours that she had heard about you, unmentionable by any respectable woman, she claimed, but informed me that unless I attended church with her in the morning and made full confession and asked forgiveness in front of God and the congregation, I could not stay another night under her roof._

_I sent Maria upstairs to pack, told Mrs. Bessington that I would no more be attending her church than I would be paying her account and that she should send it to my solicitor, from whom she would be shortly hearing, and left to find another inn. Walking the streets of Bristol at twilight on a Saturday night was an education, and I trust all that I saw swearing, drinking and whoring will be attending church with Mrs. Bessington tomorrow, making full confession and asking forgiveness before God and the congregation, although I very much doubt it._

_Strangely, for such a godly town, my filthy lucre quickly secured a room at the White Hart, where I am now ensconced. It is a more fashionable, and of course more expensive, inn than Mrs. Bessington’s. It is not the expense I mind. It is that I have always made an effort to give my custom to the small, less fashionable innkeeper and twice in one trip have my efforts been soundly punished instead of being rewarded._

_After the inconvenience of relocating and finally having a cold collation and a glass of brandy to calm my nerves in my new room, I then had to endure several hours of Maria’s tears. She had, apparently, become too friendly with Mrs. Bessington’s help, a maid much Maria’s age, easily impressed by tales of Town. Maria was, of course, the source of the gossip that had so offended Mrs. Bessington. She begged my forgiveness and for me not to dismiss her. I reminded her than I have already released her from my service and ensured her comfort, and that she insisted on remaining with me until I leave for France, but that she was free to leave my service at any time. For reasons I do not understand, that only made her cry harder._

_I wish very much to be away from this hateful place. Instead, I must await the insurance adjuster. He has still not committed to when he will come, only as soon as he may. I would offer to pay him for his haste, but that rather defeats the object of pressing the claim. I could just pay the Bolton girls for the loss and be on my way back to you, but that again would be a penalty rather than a reward for the effort of the last two days._

_Forgive me, my dear man. I am feeling a little sorry for myself. I will admit I have not given much thought to marine chronometers or apologies or even vengeance these last few hours. Indeed, I am having trouble thinking of much at all beyond my sorry state, after a second night without sleep, a second day of being away from you. I miss you so terribly, James, and I know that I have no one but myself to blame for my present distress. I should have done as you suggested and left this in the hands of my solicitor. Then we would be together and I would not have had to endure the discomfort and inconvenience and humiliation of this journey. It was my pride and stubbornness that brought me here, to be dressed down by a sanctimonious inn keep and tossed out into the street like a whore._

_Forgive me, oh, forgive me, James. I promise I will put all this unpleasantness behind me and be cheerful again. I will give the insurance adjuster one more day and night only, and then return whether or not this matter is concluded. I will write again today as promised, and again before I depart, so you know when to expect me. I would never lecture you on your duty, but I hope, I hope so desperately, that you will be awaiting me on my return with the promised attentions, of which in I am rather desperately in need._

_More than ever, I have not let go, and remain,_

_Your Lioness_

James dropped the letter into his lap and covered his eyes with his hand. _This is my doing_ , he thought heavily. _I have destroyed her reputation and opened her to ridicule and censure. I have made her feel a whore_.

He rolled to his feet, intending to dress and ride to Bristol, although he was not sure if went only to collect Caroline and bring her back to Town, or if he went to collect Caroline after he cut the throat of the vicious bitch who had humiliated her. But the room wavered and went grey around him, and he found himself on his knees on the floor, his arms outstretched as though reaching to grasp his absent mistress.

 _I cannot stand, much less sit my horse_ , he thought in disgust.

He climbed unsteadily back into his bed and lay there with his arm over his eyes.

He must have slept, or passed out, because he came-to at a pounding on the door.

“James! James, are you in there?!”

He groaned and rolled off the bed, only to find himself on his hands and knees on the floor again.

“What is it, Brace?”

“Sweet Mary, where have you been? Atticus is downstairs, half mad with worry. He says you drank enough to kill ten men last night, blacked his eye, cracked another man’s rib, split your own skull and then disappeared.”

 _Did I split my skull?_ James wondered. He felt the back of his head and found a knot and a crust of dried blood. _So I did_ , he thought blearily. “Tell him I’m sleeping it off and will come to the Dolphin tonight.”

There was a long silence on the other side of the door.

“Did you hear me?” James barked.

“Aye. I’ll tell him.”

James glanced at the clock on the wall above his desk. A little after one o’clock. “Brace, has another letter come for me?”

“No, nothing since a special express this morning.”

 _No more word. I have to endure_. “Bring me up a bottle of brandy and a pitcher of water. I need to dress for the funeral.”

“Whose bloody funeral?” Brace demanded.

“My brother-in-law’s. I owe her one last duty.”

“James—”

“Water,” James repeated. “And a bottle of brandy. And saddle my horse.”

He heard the scrape of Brace’s boot as the manservant turned on his heel, and then the thumps of his footsteps down the stairs.

James dragged himself over to his writing desk and sat with his head in his hands until Brace thumped back up the stairs and banged on the door. “Leave them,” he shouted, and fumbled out a piece of foolscap and his quill.

 _My dearest, bravest Lioness_ , he wrote.

_I am deeply pained by your travails, and know that they are, in large part, my fault. I took you at your word when you told me not to trouble myself about your reputation, but I should have taken greater care, for I know how quickly and cruelly public opinion can turn against a woman. I have brought this on you, and I can only apologise, and promise that I will try to make it up to you in any way I can on your return._

_I will not entreat you to give up your efforts on behalf of your Bolton girls and come back to me now. I will not deride your sacrifices. They are as admirable as everything else you do, and anyone who cannot see what you are is a fool._

_I go now to quit my last duty to my family. I will ensure that my brother-in-law’s mortal remains are left undisturbed. Then I will owe him and my sister nothing._

_When I return, I hope to find another letter from you telling me the date of your departure from Bristol. I will not tell you of my triales since my last letter, but when we are together again, I will tell you the story behind Atticus’s blackened eye and my split skull and you may kiss better the latter, but dare you not think about kissing the former._

_I will be kissing you soon, my darling. Until then, I am,_

_Your Lion_

James re-read the letter, corrected the spelling of ‘trials,’ and added a post-script. _You are, of course, correct in your deduction as to my delivery. They are breath-taking, but not as breath-taking as you_.

He sealed the letter and added her address at the White Hart, then made his way to the door to collect the water and brandy.

*

The ride to Chelsea should have sobered him. He went to dig a deeper grave for the man his sister had murdered, thinking she was carrying out his wishes. The fear that she’d done it so they could be together sat on his shoulders as he rode, clawing away the last clinging shred of Caroline’s warmth. He was shivering long before he turned at St. James’s Park and finally put his back to the biting wind.

He drank as he rode. Little nips at the bottle for warmth at first, then long pulls as much to shock the disapproving passers-by as for the relief the intoxicant gave him from the unrelenting pounding in his temples, neck, back and groin, all aggravated by the jouncing of the horse.

He’d nearly finished the bottle by the time he reached the church. The church bell, ringing when others were silent, guided him, even as the clanging increased the unbearable resonance in his head. He ignored the mourners, sitting in silent ranks in the small stone church with their heads bowed, and walked around into the burial ground, following the sound of picks and shovels.

He nodded to the grave diggers, and jumped down into the grave when they vacated it. Swinging the pick into the packed dirt and shovelling the loose up onto the grass bank should have warmed him. Instead, he found himself shivering uncontrollably, even as sweat ran in icy rivulets down his brow and back.

When he heard the church doors open, he climbed up out of the grave, retrieved his bottle and retreated to the trees. He didn’t try to hide, just removed his disreputable presence to an acceptable distance. He knew Zilpha was aware of him by the way she avoided looking at him. He knew she’d dressed for him by the way her breasts pushed up against the neckline of her black silk gown. His gaze settled there, between those two creamy swells, and lingered, locked and lost.

 _Come to me_ , her breasts said. _Taste me, remember my taste, honey and black cherries, so sweet on your tongue. Suckle me, as you once did. Let me smother you and drown all your pain_.

James finished the bottle while the priest droned and the soldier-men shuffled and the women sniffled. A spiteful rain began, dripping down the back of James’s neck, colder than the sweat drying there.

 _Come to me,_ Zilpha’s breasts called again. _I am warm. I am olives and apricots lying in the sun. I am silken and sweet and good to eat. Come and taste me. Warm yourself in my wilds and you will never be cold again_.

Longing twisted a double-edged knife in his belly. His balls pounded. His temples pounded.

 _Come to me, my love_ , Zilpha’s breasts raved. _Come and slake your thirst on me. Come and satisfy your hunger on me. Taste me, suckle me, bite me, eat me. You will never feel cold or hungry or thirsty again_.

James groaned.

Zilpha turned her head and looked at him.

It was the old look. The same look she’d given him a hundred times. The look she’d given him before their first time together, locked together in a silent, furious struggle under a mangrove tree on a half-deserted island off the coast of Brazil while just out of sight down the beach, their father and his crew loaded timber and coconuts into the ship. The look she’d given him back in London so many times, when she’d lifted her skirts to show him she was wearing nothing but her stockings and a dew of sweat on her cunt-lips. The look she’d given him when he’d found her with Edgar, writhing and panting as the boy thrust his fingers between her thighs.

 _Come to me, fuck me, eat me_ , that look said. _I will give you everything for an hour, before I take it away_.

In that moment, an hour’s relief was all James needed.

When she turned and walked, back straight and head high, out of the graveyard, James followed as though she’d sunk a grappling hook into his groin.

*

His horse protested the entire way to Buckland Place. It was a low, despairing protest. Not bucking or tossing its head, but moaning, deep in its chest, with every step. James laid his heels into it and resisted applying his spurs by an act of will greater than that by which he’d kept down the vinegar. The grey dragged its hooves all the way up the gravel drive to Zilpha’s door, and shook itself like a dog coming out of water when James dismounted. He tied it to the house’s hitching post and patted its neck. The horse blew and rolled its eye at him.

Leaving the ornery animal, he mounted the front steps of the house, finding the door open and the servants dismissed. He followed the wet cunt-musk smell of her through the house and into the bedroom. It was a path he’d walked just two nights before, to retrieve her husband’s body.

She stood on the other side of the bed, the bed she’d shared with Geary, the bed in which she’d driven a hatpin through the man’s heart. Still in her expensive black silks and stylish top hat, she stood and stared at him and dared him silently to take what he wanted, what he’d wanted every day of his life, it seemed.

“Take that fucking dress off,” he grated at her. “Take that fucking dress off now.”

She didn’t. He knew she wouldn’t. Because she’d never obeyed him and she never would. Instead, she slowly pivoted to her cheval glass, so she could see herself, and see him watching her. She pulled out her hatpin and removed her hat, then shook out her hair. Lifting her chin and running her fingers through her hair so the scent of it filled the room, she dared him. Reaching down and gathering her skirts and lifting them so he could see in the mirror that under the oh-so-stylish widow’s weeds, she wore nothing but her stockings, she dared him. Climbing onto the bed, with her skirts hiked to her waist, laying back in a froth of silk and lace and spreading her legs wide, she dared him.

 _I am no coward_ , the gin and brandy and pain told James.

He dared.

*

She tore at him, ripping off his mud-spattered greatcoat, coat, weskit and shirt. James heard the cloth tear, his, hers as he snapped the buttons on her dress and pulled it open so he could feast on her breasts. He tried to bite, to take what she’d silently promised, but she pushed his face away. Denying him as she always denied him. James snarled with the need to possess her, that twisting, black need she brought out in him, and fastened on to her throat.

“James!” she scolded as he bit. She grabbed his head between her hands, dragged him down into a kiss that tasted of river mud and bile.

James broke the kiss and tried to pull away.

She wound herself around him. Tangle-weed. Clanking chains. She pulled off her stockings and wrapped her bare legs around him, trying to pull him into the maw of her cunt. James struggled backwards. She grabbed his head again and dragged him down. She was the one snarling. Hateful. Ravenous. Her breasts howled at him as he palmed them, pushed at them.

She tore at his waist, yanking on his breeches, his belt, pulling at his wound, which sent a fresh spike of pain through his gut, up into his head. He blinked, reeled.

The hands on him softened, gripped his face tenderly. She kissed his forehead, lips soft, black, cracked. His mother’s lips. She kissed his mouth. Her dead, cold tongue flicked across his lips. She held him, lowered him, pushed him with strong, shaking hands, down into the green water.

James heard whimpering, but it was drowned in bubbles. Drowned as water rushed up his nose and down his throat. Cold, tasting of rotten fish and blood, it filled him.

Hands, his mother’s hands, his hands, her hands, clawed and pressed and bit. James shook himself free of his vision, looked down at the woman beneath him. She stared up at him with bulging, terrified eyes, above his hands, locked around her throat.

James staggered back. His ears rang with sounds of pain: his mother’s screams, his own whimpers, Zilpha’s panting. They echoed off the fashionably papered walls, through the empty house. His head pounded unmercifully. He knelt, scrabbled around blindly, scooped up his clothes and ran, leaving Zilpha gasping in a black froth of silk and hair, lying in her marriage bed, the bed in which she’d murdered her husband.

James stumbled to a halt in the shadow of the front door. It was still raining, and the heavy air clung to his skin. Shuddering, shivering, James drew on his clothes before dragging himself to his horse. Somehow, he untethered the grey and mounted. The horse tossed its head, wheeled and cantered down the drive, without any direction from James. Somehow, he clung on, even after he slumped half-conscious over the horse’s neck. Somehow, the animal took him back to Wapping Wall, without direction, without letting him fall, and woke him by bumping him gently against the fence outside Chamber House. James slithered out of the saddle and landed in a heap, squishing into a wet patty of horse shit. His horse lipped at his hair, and when James raised a vague hand to brush it away, bumped his shoulder with its nose until James rose unsteadily, took the reigns and led the horse around to the tiny stable door at the side of the house.

He unsaddled his horse, curried it, dragged fresh hay into the bucket in the single stall and stood, with his arms around the horse’s neck. It pressed him against the side of the stall, not crushing, just firm, animal warmth against his chest and belly. The pressure didn’t arouse him.

He wondered if anything would ever arouse him again.

“It never happened,” he whispered to the horse. “It was a gin-dream, a brandy-‘mare. You never took me there. I never touched her. It never happened, because if it happened, I will lose Caroline. I will lose her. I cannot lose her. So it never happened. You will never speak of it, do you hear me?” He ran his hand down the horse’s long nose. It nickered at him.

“You will never speak of it. I will never speak of it. We will never speak of it; none of us, ever. It never happened and I will be sober and sane for Caroline when she returns. I will forget it happened. It didn’t happen. It is forgotten.”

The horse blew and shook its head from side to side, which James took less as a portent, than that it was growing disgruntled at the weight around its neck. He patted it, ran his hand down its withers as he pushed his way out of the stall, and left it to dream whatever dreams horses dreamed.

He plodded into the house, with the rain still beating steadily on the back of his neck. He could smell himself as he entered the vestibule, an eye-wateringly rank mix of brandy fumes, grave-dirt, bile, horse shit, wet wool and sweat. _I went to Zilpha’s bed filthy, stinking, and she never said a word. Never offered to clean me. She would have taken me, filthy, stinking, and revelled in it at the time and hated me after_.

James rubbed his hand over his eyes, flinching when he belatedly remembered his burned palm. _It doesn’t matter. It never happened. It’s forgotten_.

“What the hell happened to you?” Brace greeted him at the door.

James shucked out of his greatcoat and boots and pushed them at the old butler, who leaned far away, presumably in response to the smell. “I fell in some horse shit. Clean them. I’ll need them later.”

“Later when you go to see Atticus? He said he’ll wait until dark, then he’s coming to find you. He’s worried.”

“He shouldn’t be,” James growled. “What are you holding?” He pointed at Brace’s hand, which contained a letter.

Brace grimaced as he slapped the letter into James’s palm. “Another express. It’s a Sunday. A decent woman would be in church, not writing letters to post express to a bachelor.”

James lunged at him, missed and collided with the hall table, then grabbed the wall to right himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brace demanded.

“Nothing,” James snapped. “Do not presume to know anything about Mrs. Grant. Or me. Clean those, I’m going out.”

With a murderous glare, Brace scooped the coat and boots off the floor and stomped off into the kitchen.

James remained leaning against the wall as he broke open Caroline’s letter and read it.

 _Dearest, darling Lion_ , she wrote.

_I am so happy to tell you that my business in Bristol is nearly concluded. The adjuster came faster than I could have hoped for, despite the weather and the day of rest. He will return with his offer of settlement; then I have only a few papers to sign and may be on my way. The Bolton girls will have their due._

_I will return directly to Harley Street and hope to be able to offer you dinner on Monday evening at six o’clock, if convenient. I realise I made you promise to await me, but I am actually still in dire need of that hot bath, so I beg you give me until six to make myself presentable._

_Now that I know I am on my way back to you, my dear man, my heart is so much lighter. I can entirely ignore the disdain of that shrew woman and the inconvenience of this trip and the pernicious weather, which is likely to make my return journey very soggy indeed. Now that I know we will be soon reunited, I can be cheerful again. I will be your happy linnet, and will delight you with my song, and my knowledge of chronometric navigation, on which I’ve purchased a treatise here in Bristol that I will study diligently so that I can astound you with my expertise._

_I cannot wait to see you again, my wonderful, magnificent lion. I look forward to hearing the tale of Atticus’s eye and your poor head, and you may warn that encompassed villain that if he was in any way at fault for your injury, he will answer to me._

_You will forgive me I hope if I do not write again today, as I ready for my departure. I have an important errand to run. I need access to the cabin on my ship, for reasons of which you are already aware, but I have not yet revealed my true self to Captain Carver. That may be a sticky conversation, all in all. How do I best break it to the man that I have deceived him as to my gender for the past six years? Dear me. It is perhaps for the best that I vacated Mrs. Bessington’s before that rumour reached her ears; it might put that most respectable woman in her grave._

_I am glad that I can laugh about that episode now, with it all behind me._

_Oh my beloved lion, I will see you very soon, and you will see that I have not once, for a moment, let go._

_Your Most Adoring Lioness_

James closed his eyes and held the letter to his chest. _One more night. One more day_. He checked his cracked pocket-watch. No, time had not flown. _Twenty-four hours, a little less, before I can walk up the stairs of her townhouse and have her man open the door before I knock_.

It was too much. Too long. In that moment, those twenty-four hours were such a crushing weight that James sank down the wall to slouch against the baseboard. _I cannot go another night without sleep_ , he thought, as fatigue clawed at him. _I cannot go another day waiting for her. I will go fully and finally mad_.

He pushed himself up off the wall and bellowed to Brace to bring his boots and coat.

He went first to Bedlam, hailing a hackney to take him, rather than forcing his long-suffering horse back out into the glowering wet.

He sat in the room that had been his mother’s prison, his back to the wall, from which still hung the chains in which they’d restrained her. His own stink settled around him like river fog. He wondered if it would mix with the fumes Cholmondeley had warned would seep from the gunpowder. An explosive mix. James took out his striker and lit a spark, daring Zilpha’s God or fate or whatever dark power lurked and hissed behind the stars to blow him to hell.

Nothing ignited.

 _Because I am already in hell_ , James thought. _My mother drowned me that day in the river and all since then has been no more than the dreaming of my infant soul as I circumambulate Purgatory. That is why my dreams all turn to nightmares. My love, my career, Africa, everything. All turned to shit and stink and pain_.

James struck another spark and miserably contemplated going to find more gin.

 _I cannot be drunk when Caroline returns. I must be sane and sob_ er, he reminded himself. _If I am drunk, she will see my crime in my eyes, smell it on my breath. She will know what I have done and she will turn away from me. She will withhold herself from me, her love and her light, and I will sink that last time under the green water and drown_.

But he couldn’t face another night without either Caroline or a bottle. He struck another spark.

When, at last, he failed to blow himself to hell, he rose unsteadily and went out into the gloaming. The low clouds had stopped pissing, and as the sun sank, it slipped under them to illuminate the city. _Golden hour_ , James thought, remembering what his father had called it. _But I see no gold, only brass. Only tarnished men with tarnished hopes in a tarnished city. I must be away from here; I will be away from here. And I must find a way to take Caroline with me_.

He found another hackney and took it as far as the docks, where his coin ran out. He climbed out of the carriage and stood looking over the river, with the rising wind lifting his coat and that strange, burnished light filling his eyes. He walked along the docks until he found himself near his ship. Resolving to spend the night away from all temptation, aboard his ship, which might gently rock him to sleep, he quickened his steps towards the _Gyata’s_ berth.

A nasal voice from a tall, black carriage stopped him.

“Mr. Delaney,” the pinched-faced man in the carriage said. James turned to look at him, and recognised one of Strange’s cronies from their meeting. _The man who told me to open the envelope_ , he thought. _Care to make me a higher offer now?_

The man didn’t. “Sir Stuart just wants you to know, it’s war. The gloves are off.” The man patted the side of the carriage and it set off with a lurch.

James watched it go for a moment, then turned back to his ship.

The explosion knocked James back a step, blew his greatcoat out to slap around his legs. He felt the sting of splinters against his cheeks, smelled the acrid stink of gunpowder.

 _But all the gunpowder is at Bedlam_ , he thought, disbelieving, even while a black plume rose to stain the golden air. The burning mast slowly collapsed into the water and James watched it, unable to process the disaster.

He turned, looked over his shoulder, to see if the East India cove had stayed to watch his moment of triumph, but the man was gone, and the merchants, sailors, washerwomen, urchins and the blackamoor who had been amusing them, were fleeing.

James watched it all unfold around him for a long moment. Then he turned on his heel and began walking towards the molly house.

He confronted Godfrey, then Atticus, and finally, took care of the traitor. James took the man from behind while Atticus distracted him, stabbing him between the ribs and puncturing the heart. It was a fast death, something most people probably wouldn’t appreciate, although James thought his victim might. He let the body slump to the ground, then bent over it for the butchery. He used the weight of his body to force his blade’s sharp edge through the man’s ribs, then pulled out the heart and offered it to Atticus just to see the old sailor recoil.

 _You’ve been too long among civilized men_ , James thought dismissively. _You’ve lost the taste for survival_.

James ignored Atticus’s accusation of witchcraft, and told him to leave the body where it would be found. He bid Atticus good-night, a courtesy the sailor didn’t return. James felt the man’s ill-manners scrape across his nerves.

 _I need my lioness, who always shows me every courtesy_ , he thought. _I need her, I need her, I need her_.

He turned his back on Atticus and the lights of the Dolphin, knowing his welcome there was exhausted, and plodded along the Wall until he reached Helga’s.

He commandeered a bottle of gin and sank into a chair in front of the fire to drink it. Helga’s whores and their customers give him a wide berth as they continued to flirt and drink and smoke. The whorehouse’s constant background hum, moans and the creak of bedframes and the slapping of flesh on flesh, penetrated James’s haze. The sounds reverberated in his belly, made him unbearably hungry for his mistress. He closed his eyes to see her peach and cream skin, rolled his tongue in his mouth to taste her nipples. He shifted in the chair and felt his pants constrict around his erection. Tightening the way Caroline’s cunny tightened just before she climaxed. He tipped his head back in the chair, drawing hard on the bottle, and imagined Caroline climbing into his lap, taking him deep into her body as she knelt on his thighs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, her breasts crushed against his chest, bellies pressed hard together. He felt her breath on his neck; her mouth replaced the mouth of the bottle on his, wet and soft. James’s body burned for his absent mistress; the heavy fabric of his trousers chaffed him. He rolled his head against the back of the chair in agony.

Helga approached him, in the wary, bruised way of old whores. She sat down across from him. He could smell the opium smoke clinging to her and sneered.

“Go get some sleep,” she told him.

He swigged more gin from the bottle, not even feeling the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat. _I have no hope of sleep_ , he thought. _Not until Caroline returns_. “I don’t need to sleep. I need . . .” _Caroline_. “A ship.”

“Maybe a fuck first. Find a ship tomorrow.”

She was no use. He didn’t want to fuck, not any of the women around him. The only woman he wanted was in Bristol, for another twenty hours of hell and misery.

He growled at Helga and finished the bottle of gin, then stood, batted an empty bottle out of his way, claimed a half-full one, and staggered out of the whorehouse.

He ended up at the river, half in and half out of the water, raging, groaning, begging. He threw the bottle into the water when he finished it. He knew he was drunk and mad again, when he’d told himself he must be sober and sane for Caroline’s return. But he couldn’t face the endless hours between now and her return with his head and body pounding, no relief, no satisfaction, no peace.

Winter found him there, wading, cursing, beating at his own head. She brought him momentary relief: more gin. He tried to warn her away, to tell her he was mad and dangerous. But she didn’t heed him. She never had. Just like his sister. Only Caroline obeyed him. Only she understood the danger of releasing a lion among men.

James put the fresh bottle to his mouth and gulped it down. It drowned him, and then the river drowned him, and then darkness drowned him.

James woke face down in mud. His head was hammering, but it was clear, purged somehow. _Caroline is on her way back to me_ , he thought, as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Nothing else mattered for a moment. Not the cold mud sticking to his skin. Not the stink of the river up his nose. Not every bitter ache that was separately announcing itself. He staggered to his feet, and felt his balance return for the first time in days. He picked up his hat and brushed the mud off it.

Then he saw what else lay in the mud and that something mattered. It mattered very, very much.


	21. Chapter 21

James waited with Winter’s body until Helga came. She pushed by him, ran to her daughter and began keening, a high, thin sound like a wounded animal. James stood aside and let the whores take Winter’s body away. He said nothing; he saw the way they looked at him.

 _I wish I could tell you it was not my hand_ , he thought, before turning towards Chamber House.

Still mud-caked and stinking, James made his way to the river hatch and climbed up into the kitchen. It was dark and empty, although the sun was up and Brace should have had a fire lit. Glad he did not have to face the old butler yet, James did not call for him, but made his way to the stairs.

On the table in the hallway, a letter lay like a pale star against the side-table’s dark wood. James picked it up with the tail of his shirt to avoid smearing mud all over it, and carried it cradled in the linen up into the attic.

His steps on the stairs were sure. His head swam as he mounted the steps, but it wasn’t the sick, dizzying swim of madness. It was just lack of food, lack of sleep. James felt Caroline with him again in spirit, if not yet in body. _Her blanket’s back around me_ , he thought, flexing his shoulders in its warmth.

He laid her letter on his desk, noting that it was strangely heavy. _Did she send me a souvenir from Bristol?_ He wondered. _Maybe something she wants me to wear to dinner tonight. I will wear it for her, she can hold me, and stroke my head and I will tell her of Winter. She knows me better than I know myself. Maybe she can tell me if it was my hand that stopped the girl’s last breath_.

There was still water in the pitcher. James picked off the worst of the dried mud, stripped to his skin, then washed in the cold water. There was no fire, and James shivered as he splashed cold water over chilled skin. But more important than warmth was ridding himself of the dirt and stink. _After dinner, I will have Mr. Singh draw me a bath, so I can be properly clean for my dove_.

As he removed his linen, he found an unwelcome crust of blood on his clothes, and when he inspected his side, discovered that two of Doctor Dumbarton’s stitches had torn and the wound was seeping again. _She tore at me_ , he thought, remembering back. _During that thing that did not happen. She yanked at my belt and pulled at me and tore two stitches. In several days together, during the wildest coupling, Caroline never caused me a moment’s pain. A mad, misbegotten hour with Zilpha and I am torn and bleeding_.

He sighed disgustedly, although he was not sure if it was more at his sister or himself. He washed away the blood, and wrapped a fresh bandage around his waist before returning to his ablutions.

When he was scrubbed and pink, he drew on a clean shirt and the cashmere coat. He sat huddled in them while he warmed. Finally, when he was no longer shivering, he picked up her letter and broke open the seal.

A red rope slithered to the floor, rattling slightly as it fell. James recoiled as though from a viper. Then he slumped to his knees and picked up the length of rosewood beads. _She returned my beads_ , he thought numbly. _Why has she returned my beads?_

He looped the beads around his neck, spread her letter on his knee with a shaking hand and read.

 _Dearest James_ , she wrote.

 _I have received your sad news, and am most profoundly sorry for the loss of the_ Gyata _. I know how much you loved your lady. My ship, the_ Fair Felice _, is fully provisioned and ready to sail, with your important package safely stowed aboard. I give her to you unreservedly. I ask nothing now, only a share of the profits should you ever return. I leave the percentage up to you. I know you will be fair._

 _After the events of yesterday, I understand that you will not wish to see me again. I respect your choice and will not impose myself on you. I return your beads, and hope they keep you safe. I also enclose the direction of Captain Carver. He will sail the_ Fair Felice _to Wapping Wall whenever you command._

_I will, of course, honour my commitment to introduce you to Mr. Crawford, should you still wish to meet him. I will make my way to Paris by other means, never fear, and will make myself available for the introduction after the second of the new month. But I think Paris was never your destination. You sail for further shores. I see you there in my dreams, walking those wide, wild lands. My heart goes with you. I know you were never mine to hold; only to borrow for a little time. Now that that time is past, I do not regret it. I only hope you find true happiness in the west._

_I am ever yours,_

_Caroline_

He fumbled the pages apart, looking for more, an explanation, anything. But the second page was only the address of her captain in Bristol. He turned the letter over. There was no postmark. It had been hand-delivered sometime during his descent into madness, and murder.

Then memory cracked like a whip through his pounding, splintering temples. His stomach revolted, but there was nothing for it to expel and he swallowed back a spurt of bile. _Monday. Today is Monday. But she wrote in code, as I told her to. To tell me she was returning Sunday, not Monday. She was here yesterday, during all the madness. She was here, waiting for me. Waiting to serve me dinner at six. But I did not come. She must have waited all night. I could have been with her, and avoided it all_.

He scooped the beads off his chest and held them to his face, seeking her scent. _If she wore them against her breast, they should smell like her_.

But there was nothing.

He opened the letter again and spread it on the floor as he sat cross-legged, staring at it. He read each word twice, trying to puzzle out its meaning as though they were written in a foreign tongue, until the letters twisted and separated, becoming just a line of marks, as meaningless as a march of bugs across sand.

 _After the events of yesterday_ , he read. But she could not know. He had not told. His horse had not told. It had never happened, and she couldn’t have known. _What else could she be referring to? Did she somehow learn of the traitor I killed? Or of Winter’s death? I’ve killed before and she showed no qualm. She said she understood. Is it because I’ve killed an innocent that she turns away from me?_

 _I understand that you would not wish to see me again_ , he read. _How can she understand such a thing, when it is so wholly wrong?_

 _I respect your choice,_ he read. _What choice?_ _What choice does she think I’ve made? Surely not my sister. That was never a choice, only an obsession. And there is no way she could know what happened yesterday. What didn’t happen. What I’ve already forgotten because it never happened_.

 _. . . and will not impose myself on you_. He felt the first flare of anger twist his insides. _You will not impose yourself on me, but that is not the truth. You_ deprive _me of yourself, Caroline_. He fingered the beads and again sought her scent. _You deny me, when you promised to deny me nothing._

He rose unsteadily to his feet and gazed down at the letter, feeling each word claw at him.

 _You let me go, when you promised you never would. You wrote me again and again, swearing to never, ever let me go, and now, without a word of explanation, you have_. His breathing quickened and James stood over the letter, panting harshly.

Raw, red fury burned through him. He picked up the letter and threw it into the cold fireplace, where it could later burn, and grabbed up clothes from the floor.

*

The Sikh answered the door on his third knock, and bowed low, but did not move aside to admit him.

“Mrs. Grant is not receiving today, sir,” Mr. Singh said.

“Let me in,” James growled. “She will see me.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Mrs. Grant has instructed no visitors today. She did not make any exception.”

 _She said her house was always open to me,_ James thought furiously.

“She will see me,” James repeated, gripping his anger with an iron hand to keep himself from lashing out at the manservant. “Nor will I leave this house until I have seen her.”

“Sir, please, I beg you return tomorrow. Mrs. Grant is not receiving—”

“Mr. Singh.” The Sikh stiffened at Caroline’s voice from the shadowed recesses of the house. “Please admit Mr. Delaney. My home is always open to him.”

Her words threw a trickle of water onto the bonfire of James’s anger, but the fire still raged and steamed and roared inside him.

Mr. Singh bowed and let him enter. James strode into the front hall, pausing to hand his hat, greatcoat and cane to the Sikh when the man moved purposefully in front of him. Having taken James’s things, the Sikh did not depart, but hovered between James and the stairs.

James met the man’s eye. “Stand aside.” _Stand aside or I will move you_.

“Sir,” the Sikh said. James watched the man’s nostrils flare as he fought some powerful urge.

“Mr. Singh, please show Mr. Delaney up,” Caroline said. James followed her voice up the stairs and saw her standing at the top. She was silhouetted in the light from the open doorway behind her, haloed by her unbound hair, her face in shadow. He could not see her expression.

“Ma’am,” the Sikh said, still unmoving.

“I will not harm her,” James said in an undertone to the man.

“She has cried all night,” the Sikh murmured, his lips barely moving between the black curls of moustache and beard. “Without stopping. Without sleeping. Without eating.”

“You should have sent for me, but now that I am here, all will be well,” James promised. “Send up food and I will see that she eats.”

Bowing, the Sikh moved aside. James moved up the stairs, to face the grief his madness had caused.

Caroline withdrew before he reached the top of the stairs. He followed her through the open door into her bedroom. The bed was rumpled, as though she’d recently risen, although it was nearly mid-day, or, if what the Sikh said was true, she’d lain in it for long hours without rest. She offered him an armchair with a graceful gesture, while she retired to the window-seat.

Keeping his anger tightly in check, James sank into the armchair. He planted his feet on the floor and spread his knees, creating a Caroline-sized space where she could kneel. He wasn’t sure if he’d demand that she suck his cock or beg forgiveness first.

She sat in the window seat, her face turned away as she looked out into the park, so all he could see was the curve of her cheek. She pulled her knees up onto the seat and arranged the skirts of her dressing gown. Her hair, turned to waves of silver in the sunlight, was so dishevelled that it straggled over her shoulders in rat-tails. At any other time, James would have thought her disarray adorable. Now it made him angry that she wasn’t ready to receive him. Then it occurred to him that her dishevelment was due to her pulling at her hair while she tossed and turned all night, and his anger wavered and twisted against the need to soothe her. He worked his hands on the chair’s armrests to control the conflicting emotions swirling through him.

Finally, she turned to look at him and he could see her. Her eyes were raw and red. Colour bled down into the puffy circles under her eyes and swelled her nose, but her cheeks and lips were deathly pale. Her bloodshot eyes held that bleak, blasted look he’d seen when she’d admitted the churchman’s abuse and her cousin’s death. The death of innocence, hope, love.

Her grief, real heartbroken grief, burned his anger to ashes. James rose, walked over to her and lifted her out of the window-seat. But before he could draw her into his arms, she slid away and retreated to the fireplace. She stood with one hand braced against it, her head bowed. She trembled, tiny little shivers that shook her from top to toe, and James knew they had nothing to do with excitement.

 _You will not come to me,_ he thought heavily. _You turn away from me._

“You received my letter this morning?” she asked. Her voice sounded as raw as her eyes.

“Yes.”

“I said I would not impose on you. You need not have called. You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you nothing,” he repeated, feeling a weight growing in his chest. “How do I owe you nothing? Everything I lost yesterday, you gave back to me. Is that nothing?”

She shrugged, still not looking up at him. “It’s a ship. Just a ship.”

“The _Gyata_ was not just a ship to me. She was hope and freedom and a future. The _Fair Felice_ is not just a ship to you, Caroline, or you wouldn’t have named her after your cousin. If you wanted nothing more to do with me, why did you give me your future?”

Her eyes flashed up to him, so red and glassy-raw they looked like marbles, before she looked at the floor again. She shook her head.

“What are you denying?” he asked, holding his hands out.

“I’m not the one . . . I didn’t want it to be an obligation. I never want you to feel obliged to me—”

“Caroline,” he rasped, beginning to feel something far worse than anger tighten his chest. _Have I lost you, my dove? Why won’t you come to me?_ “You’re not an obligation. You’ve never been an obligation. You’ve given me everything that was wanting. Why would you think I wouldn’t want to see you? Why won’t you look at me?”

She did, those raw eyes lifting to his for a second, so he could see the fresh tears in them, then darting away. “You didn’t come last night, James. I know . . . I know where you were. I know the choice you made. I understand. I knew it from the start: you were hers long before you were mine. Believing otherwise was merely idiocy on my part. I don’t begrudge you—”

James prowled closer, two very dangerous emotions warring for control of his heart, his voice. “What don’t you begrudge me, madam?”

She gripped the mantle and put a hand to the neckline of her creased dressing gown.

Her bare neckline.

“Where the fuck are my pearls?” James roared at her, the more violent of his emotions gaining the upper hand.

Caroline fell to her knees and put her face in her hands. “Please, James! I can’t bear your anger. Go, please, go. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you’ve had to see me like this. I don’t know what you want – if it’s your clothes or your jewels – just take them—”

“I don’t want clothes or jewels! Where are my fucking pearls, Caroline?!”

She pointed wordlessly, keeping her other hand over her face.

James followed the line of her arm to her bedside table, where he saw the strand, gleaming softly. He collected the pearls from the table, then knelt in front of her.

“Look at me, madam,” he growled.

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, James. I can’t.”

“You can.” James took her by the shoulders and pulled her upright, pried first one hand and then the other from her face. She hung like a ragdoll in his grasp, her eyes downcast. Her cheeks were smeared with tears. He’d wipe them away in a moment. He released her only to clasp the pearls around her neck, then he pulled her, unresisting, limp, into his arms.

“You promised to deny me nothing,” he reminded her.

“James, please—” Her chin quivered and two fresh tears slid from her red-raw eyes.

“You promised not to let me go,” he said, more harshly.

“James.” Her voice was so strained it sounded like a violin-wire about to snap.

“How dare you break your promises to me, madam?” he demanded, taking her shoulders and giving her a little shake. She put her palms to his chest but didn’t push him back. She just sagged against him when he released her shoulders. “What is wrong with you? Where is my lioness?”

She slid back and lifted her face, something igniting in her eyes. Then she pulled free of him, drew back her hand and gave him a ringing slap across the face. “You are what’s wrong with me!” she cried. Then she crumpled over, putting her hand over her face again and rocking back and forth on her knees. “I’m sorry, James. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry.”

“Enough,” James said. He scooped her up, and this time she did resist, but her strength was nothing to his. He threw her over his shoulder when she struggled and carried her to the bed. He tossed her onto the rumpled covers, yanked off his gloves, coat and boots and climbed into the bed.

Caroline scooted away from him, backing up until she ran into the headboard. She held her hands out in front of her, pushing at the air as though she could push him back without actually touching him. “No, James, no. Please, not like this.”

He sat back on his heels. “Not like what? You think I mean to rape you?”

She shook her head but he could see the fear in her face. The real fear. She’d never feared him. Not when he’d been rougher and more demanding with her than he’d ever been with any woman. Not when he’d spanked her, thrashed her with his belt, fucked her over a chair. But now, in this moment, she feared him.

Utterly disgusted with her, himself, everything, James climbed out of the bed. He grabbed his boot and begin to tug it on.

Behind him, Caroline screamed.

He’d heard a sound like that once before. Just once. A rabbit, caught by a fox, not killed cleanly by the first bite. Knowing its death was upon it, the rabbit, otherwise an utterly silent creature all its life, had screamed.

James put down his boot and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. “Talk to me,” he said quietly into air that still reverberated with her pain.

“What do you want me to say?” she sobbed.

“Tell me what you think you know.”

She cried for a moment without answering him, then said hoarsely, “I know . . . I know you went to your sister’s house yesterday, after the funeral. I know you were there . . . long enough to . . . long enough. When you left, you were carrying your shirt and boots. You dressed on the step—”

_She knows. It happened, and she knows, even though I never said a word._

“You had me followed,” James said heavily, feeling that hot rage rise again from both her intelligence and the reminder of his ugly, drunken interlude with Zilpha.

“Doctor Dumbarton did. You did not come to dinner and I was afraid something had happened to you, so I sent word to him, asking your whereabouts. His man came back with that report—”

“And you thought I had betrayed you.”

“Oh, James.” She snuffled and James heard her wipe her face, probably on the sleeve of her dressing gown, which already bore more than a few water stains. “It’s not a betrayal. You belonged to her first. I’ve always known that.”

“You knew, yet you promised to deny me nothing. You knew, yet you promised not to let me go. You knew, from the very beginning, madam, and yet one scurrilous report and you broke every faith with me—”

He heard her begin sobbing again. “No, James, no, I didn’t. I thought . . . I was just trying to do what I thought you’d want. Without being an imposition on you. Without burdening you. You have so many burdens.”

“You are not,” James gritted over his shoulder. “An imposition. You are not, madam, a burden. You are my darling and my dove and my linnet and my sunlight. All those things I have named you. Yet one whisper reaches your ear and you break every promise you’ve made me. You let me go, without a fight. How dare you, madam? How dare you?” he rasped. Then he said more gently, “Where is my lioness? Where has she gone?”

He heard her slide across the bed. Her hands touched his shoulders tentatively, fluttered, then grasped the heavy muscle. She leaned against his back, her body still shuddering. “Please, James, I’m here.”

“Where?” he asked roughly.

“Here.” She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled herself a little closer. “Here, here I am.”

“And you will never let me go again.”

“No, never.”

“And you will never look at me with fear in your eyes again.”

“No, I swear.” She wrapped her other arm around him, sliding it under his arm and clenching her hands across his collar. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been . . . lost, James.”

James let out a long breath and slumped forward against her arms. She tightened them, holding him firmly. “I know what it is to be lost, my darling. I, too, have been lost.”

“Now you’re found, James. We both are. We are.” She rubbed her cheek against the back of his neck, over his brand.

He sat like that for a long time, with her arms wrapped around him, her cheek pressed against him. Until he felt her breathing grow even. Until he was sure he could face her without her seeing the tears that had come to his own eyes in that terrible moment, the moment when her eyes had filled with fear and he was sure he’d lost her.

“Go to the door,” he said finally. “Reassure your staff that I haven’t murdered you and take the tray from your maid who has been standing there shifting from foot to foot while she’s let your tea go cold.”

“Oh, oh, yes. Oh, dear. Poor Maria.” Caroline unwound herself from him and climbed out of the bed. She crossed to the door they’d both left open in their haste and stepped out into the hallway. He heard her dismiss the girl, over Maria’s protests that she must straighten the room and make the bed and bathe her mistress’s poor eyes. Caroline came back in carrying a silver tray with a tea service and plates piled with sandwiches and biscuits.

“Ah,” James said. “Mrs. Singh’s excellent ginger biscuits. The cure for any ill.”

“Not any ill. Last night, they merely reminded me of you. I threw a great handful into the fire,” Caroline said, setting the tray on the night table. She poured and offered him the cup. James took it and drank the lukewarm tea in one swallow, then handed the cup back to her.

“Drink, two cups. You’ll be thirsty after all that crying.”

Caroline nodded. She poured and drank, making a little face at the temperature. While she did, James rose and moved to the wash stand. He poured water into the basin and washed his face, then wet a wash cloth and wrung it out. He carried it back over to the bed.

“Is that for me?” Caroline asked, putting her empty cup back on the tray.

He nodded. “Your maid’s not wrong about your eyes. You won’t be able to see out of them tomorrow. Come.” He climbed into the bed, sat against the headboard and patted a pillow by his side. Caroline climbed in and sat next to him, perched rather than settled, twisting her hands together in her lap. _Still uncertain, my linnet_ , he thought. He slid his arm around her shoulders and lowered her until her head was in his lap. Folding the cool washcloth, he placed it over her eyes.

She lay still for a moment, then reached out her hand. James took it and she laced her fingers through his. She took a deep breath, let it out, and James felt her slowly relax.

“Better,” he said.

“Yes, better,” she whispered.

“Shall I tell you the tale of how I became lost? Why I didn’t come to you last night?”

She nodded against his thigh. “Please, if you want to, that is.”

“I do,” James said softly, finding, to his surprise, that he did. He’d never felt the need to explain himself before. He stroked her forehead with his free hand, and found it easier to speak to her when he didn’t have to look into her raw eyes. “You aren’t wrong about the nightmares gin gives. I’ve spent three days in a walking nightmare.”

“Oh, James,” she breathed.

“I drank the first night to get to sleep, but couldn’t. I drank the second day to hasten the passing of the hours from each of your letters to the next, but the hours stretched and dragged until it seemed you’d been gone for weeks instead of just a day. I drank the second night to bring oblivion, but instead I raged and fought and broke Atticus’s nose and Bill’s rib. I drank the third day in despair and did things unpardonable, impossible. Things that could not have happened, but I fear they did.”

She squeezed his fingers.

“I woke up this morning in the river mud, beside the body of a mud lark. A girl who had shown me kindness, and trust. To whom I’d made promises. She brought me a bottle of gin last night when I was mad and raving. Did I thank her by choking the life out of her? By holding her under the water until her lungs burst and the bubbles stopped? I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“James, oh, James.” She reached up to remove the wash cloth, but James caught her hand and held it in his.

“Not yet, madam. I have more to say. It’s easier this way.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She moved her head an inch on his thigh, then relaxed against him again. “Tell me, my dear man.”

“Yesterday. Yesterday shouldn’t have happened; I’ve told myself it didn’t happen. That I would forget it as you do a bad dream. But it was as your man reported. I thought I owed one last duty to my sister. I went and dug Geary’s grave deep, so the resurrectionists would not reach him. I should have left then. Instead, I followed her to her house. I let her draw me with that same old look she used to give me. I bit her. I would have . . . I would have torn the flesh from her breasts if she hadn’t stopped me. I was ravenous and raving and mad.”

“James, you poor thing,” Caroline whispered. ”What happened? Did she send you away?”

“No. I took myself away. I had a vision. My mother. She was kissing me and then drowning me and I felt it so clearly I could taste the river-water in my mouth. I fought and found it was my sister I was strangling. I tore myself away and ran. I dressed on her doorstep and my horse, my good horse, brought me home. I would be lying in a ditch in Chelsea but for my horse. Maybe I am and this is all a dream.”

“No, James. This is real. I am here. Feel how real this is.” She squeezed his hand.

“It always feels real, Caroline. I smell it. I taste it. Feel it. It’s only after it’s over and I’ve done something I can never put right that I realise it wasn’t real.”

“James, you haven’t done anything you can’t put right. I don’t know what happened with that poor girl, but I can’t believe you killed her—”

“Why not? Do you think me incapable? You know better than most that I’m a murderer. I’d already killed a man that very night. He betrayed me to the East India so I cut out his heart and left him as a warning to anyone else who might be tempted to whisper in John Company’s ear. How is that any different than choking the breath out of one little mud lark?”

Caroline released his hand and reached up blindly to stroke his cheek. “You’re not a murderer, James. You’re a soldier in a war that only you know you’re fighting. And I know you didn’t kill that poor girl because you cared for her. I can hear how much in your voice. You always try to protect those you love. I’ve seen it. You shield them, shelter them, no matter the cost to you. Even drunk, even mad, I don’t believe you’d turn on someone you cared for.”

James leaned into her touch. He bent over her and kissed her forehead. “I can’t say. I just don’t remember.”

“Give yourself time, James. You look so drawn, my poor man. You’ve had no rest. You’ve been drunk and ill for days. Give yourself some time to rest and recover and you may remember.”

James brushed her hair back from her forehead, then ran his fingertips back and forth over her soft skin. “I have no hope but what you give me, Caroline. I’ve been harsh with you. Angry, no, furious. But only because I’m desperately afraid. I knew you’d turn away from me if you discovered what I’d done. I tried to forget it. To convince myself it didn’t happen.” He stroked her cheek and tried to explain things that had tormented and twisted him for years. “My sister has always been like Charybdis to me. She calls to me and lures me and draws me in, then spits me out bruised and battered and regretful. Since we were children, I’ve tried to convince myself that she returned my love. But I’ve deceived myself. She draws me in because she takes pleasure in seeing me fall, crawl, be craven for her. She exults as she destroys my pride. She lets me touch her only to prove that she is irresistible to anyone, even her own brother, and then reviles me afterwards for my weakness. She’s never given me a moment’s peace. I’ve never known ease or comfort or even happiness when I am with her. Only pain, and yet like a flagellant, I cannot quit my own torment. I’m at a loss to explain why I want her. Why I went to her yesterday. I cannot explain it even to myself. Caroline . . .”

He trailed off, gazing into the distance, far beyond her cream-papered walls, as he let truths he’d known, but avoided accepting, for years, sink deep into him.

“Yes, my poor man,” she urged him on.

He sighed and refocused on the present, and the woman with him. “Do you mean that, Caroline? Do you call me your poor man and urge me to unburden myself to you because you’ve forgiven me? Or because it is just your nature to offer comfort, my sweet linnet?”

She pulled off the wash cloth, rose and climbed into his lap. She put her arms around his shoulders and held him very close. “There’s nothing to forgive, James.”

He closed his arms around her, pressed her, soft and warm, to his chest. The sweet scent of orange blossoms washed over him, and James drew it gratefully into his lungs. “I upbraided you for breaking faith with me, but I only accuse you of my own sin—”

“No, James. You promised me nothing and I always knew that part of you belonged to her. I could see it in your eyes when you spoke of her. She was your dream, my poor man. No matter that she tortured you. No matter that she didn’t return your love. You loved her. You still do. I think you always will. I don’t blame you for that. You followed her, you went to her, you touched her, because you love her. There’s no blame in that, and nothing to forgive.”

James rubbed his hands up and down the gentle curve of her back, sliding the soft silk of her dressing gown between his palms and her skin. There had been nothing sexual, even sensual, about their contact since their reunion. Their touches had been hurtful, remorseful, comforting. Now, for the first time since he’d pulled her out of the window seat, their contact became something more. He pressed her close, feeling the warmth of her spread down into his belly and groin. She melted into him, fitting the curves of her body into his, locking them together. She turned her face into his neck. Her warm breath brushed across his throat. Her lips were open on his skin, not kissing him, not asking too much of him. James reached up and sank his hand into her knotted hair, to cup the back of her head and hold her to him. He pressed his mouth to her forehead.

“There may be,” he whispered to her. “Some tiny part of me that does belong to her. And you may be right that it always will. But it’s not true that I’ve promised you nothing. At the very least, I promised you my company, and I broke that promise last night. I didn’t mean to, sweet. I forgot, muddled by all the gin, I forgot our code. When you wrote Monday, I thought you wouldn’t be back until today.”

She gave a choking laugh. “Oh, no, what a terrible spy you’d make.”

“Gin and spying are not good bedfellows.” He kissed her forehead again, rested his lips on her skin. “Can you at least forgive me for that?”

“Yes, of course.” She stroked the back of his neck, slid her fingers down along and under his shirt collar and rested her palm on the zigzag tattoo that covered his left breast. “I would have forgiven you even if you’d—”

“Don’t, sweet. Such encompassing forgiveness rots the soul. I can only forgive myself because I didn’t fuck her. But it was still a betrayal, and I do want your forgiveness, Caroline.”

“You have it.” She pressed the words into his neck with her lips.

“So easily?”

She sighed. “No, not easily. There were hours of tears behind each of those words, James.”

“I’m sorry for that, sweet. I’m sorry I let myself become so muddled I forgot our code. I’m sorry I didn’t come. I hate thinking of you waiting for me, wondering what had happened, and then finally receiving the report you thought explained all so cruelly. Had I not drowned myself in self-pity and gin, I would have known you had returned and I could have spared us both this heart-ache. Can you forgive me such weakness?”

She stroked his chest, then rested her warm palm on his chest, above his heart. “Yes, dearest James, I can forgive you. I do forgive you, for all of it.”

“Can you feel my heart there? Can you hear it?”

“No.” She curled across him, resting her cheek on his chest, and held herself still for a long moment. Then she shifted into a slightly different position, and listened again. “Oh, James, your heart is still strong, but the beat’s not calm or steady. It pounds one moment and the next it goes so quiet it could have stopped. James, how can I soothe you?”

“Just as you’re doing, moment by moment. My heart races when I think of how close I came to losing you. It slows when you promise me forgiveness. Show me that forgiveness, show me I have not lost you, and my heart will be strong and sure again.”

She eased herself back up his body and rested her face in his neck, her arms going around him. “I do forgive you, and you have not lost me.”

“And you will show me?”

She nodded and sat up and began undoing the ties on her dressing gown. James put his hands over hers and stilled her motions. “I do want that, although I may need to sleep first or I risk, for the first time, disappointing my mistress, but that is not what I meant. I will need you to show me over years and years. Will you give me that, Caroline?”

She bit her lips. “Years?”

“Yes,” James said, a little roughly. _If she forgives me, if she gives herself to me again, only to tell me that we part ways forever in a few weeks, I will go mad_. “Will you give me that?”

“I had not thought . . .” She trailed off uncertainly.

“You thought I wanted something temporary?”

She nodded. “To the Azores, you said.”

“Because I was too much of a coward to ask what I should have. Caroline, do you intend to leave me?”

“No.” She turned her hands and clasped his between her breasts. “I had no fixed intention. I thought I might . . . wander for a while. See where the wind takes me.”

“Wander with me. Let the wind take you to the Americas. Come with me and see this big new world.”

She smiled shyly. “I have seen it before.”

“Philadelphia, yes. But have you been to Boston? New York? Charleston? Jamaica? Come with me and weather the storms of Cape Horn. Sail up the coast of Chile with me and help me outrun the Spanish privateers. See the bustling port of San Francisco and smell China tea when it’s almost fresh from the fields. Come with me and meet my mother’s tribe. Let me show her people my beautiful, beautiful English lady.”

Her smile turned soft and sweet. “I would like to see Nootka, after hearing so much about it.”

“Then come with me.”

“I will, James.”

When he drew her back down to his chest, she went easily, willingly, fitting herself against him again. _Now is not the moment_ , he thought. _When she is so freshly back in my arms, to ask her to be my wife. But now is the moment to make sure she knows that while Zilpha may always own a piece of me, the rest of my heart is hers_.

“You said your heart went with me, in your letter. Is that still true?”

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“Not of course. You’ve never said the words, Caroline. We’ve talked ‘round and ‘round our loves, yours for your cousin and mine for my sister, but you’ve never once said you loved me, even though I know you do. Why will you not say it?”

She sighed and stroked the skin his open collar left exposed. “I thought we were both guarding our hearts, James. You because yours was promised elsewhere and I because I could not give you mine and hope to survive when you left—”

“Where did you think I was going?”

She shrugged, lifting her shoulder against his, then burying herself more tightly against him. “I’ve never known your plans, James. I haven’t . . . no, that’s not the truth. The truth is that I’ve been afraid to ask. I couldn’t bear to hear you put a limit on our time together. Whether it was Paris or the Azores, I feared hearing you say that would be the end. I’m sorry, my lion. It is I who have been the coward.”

Hearing her struggle to be honest, ever honest, made James’s throat tight. He stroked her from her crown to the small of her back, as he sought silently to reassure her. When he trusted his voice again, he murmured to her, “My lioness is no coward. She is cautious and careful. She is steady, stealthy and never reckless. And do you know the most special thing about her?” When she shook her head against his neck, he said, “The most special thing about her is what she is willing to endure to be with her lion. You say you were guarding your heart, Caroline, by refusing to say those words. But you’ve never been guarded with me. You’ve always been wholly open, wholly honest, no matter how painful it was for you. I knew the moment you fell in love with me because I saw it in your eyes. Since then, you’ve told me you love me a thousand times, with your eyes and your lips and your fingers. And I have always known exactly what you were saying. I didn’t demand the words because I knew, and I thought you knew, too. I thought we were beginning to speak to each other without words. But if you believed that I was guarding my heart, if you have not heard me say ‘I love you’ every time I look at you, then you have not been listening.”

“Oh, James. Oh.” She made a soft little noise that was almost a whimper. She turned her face and pressed her mouth against his neck. Speaking into his skin, she whispered, “James, I didn’t let myself hope. I was so convinced that you loved her, that you would always love her and that whatever I could offer you could not compare. I was not listening. I didn’t hear. But I will listen from now on, my lion, my dear, dear man. I will be most attentive.”

James smiled over the top of her mussed, golden head. “Listen to my heart again.”

She did, and sighed, and cuddled to him so tightly James couldn’t breathe, but he happily grew breathless and lightheaded to feel her press so close again. “Tell me what you heard,” he wheezed.

She let up the pressure on his chest to wrap her arms around his neck. “Your heart is strong and steady again. Am I choking you?”

“Only a little. Do not concern yourself. I’m happy to go without breath to have my lioness hold me tight.”

She gave a very, very small laugh, and James’s heart soared at that tiny sound.

“That is a noise I have sorely missed. Along with the little coos of pleasure you make when I’m inside you. I have even missed your snoring. Will you give those sounds to me now?”

“I’ll give you anything, James. Anything you ask for.”

“I will hold you to that, madam, and ask for everything, including the keys to Constantinople, which you best deliver. But for now, I’m desperately tired, Caroline. So desperately, I need sleep more than I need your sweet succour, which is something I never thought I’d say. I promised you morning lovemaking, and I will give it to you, hours and hours of it. But only let me sleep first. Lie by my side and snore into my chest. I can’t sleep without you.”

She nodded. “Is there anything I can get for you before you sleep?”

“No, dove. Care for me when we rise, and I’ll care for you. For now . . . sleep.”

She cuddled against him. James drew her down into the pillows. She, still in her dressing gown; he, still in his linen and trousers. They twined together in the mussed bed and finally fell asleep.

*

James woke to the rich smell of pipe smoke. He took a deep breath, stretched, and yawned. His head was clear; his body felt warm and light. Caroline slept with her head on his outstretched arm as he curled around her. The long, afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows played over her softly flushed cheek. James ran the backs of his fingers down it very gently. The redness of grief was gone. James smiled and held her close.

When she snuffled but didn’t wake, James slid his arm out from under her and tucked the covers around her. He padded to the window but couldn’t see the source of the smoke. Moving silently to his clothes horse, he changed out of his crumpled and sleep-damp linen. A new shirt and trousers made him feel fresh, although he still needed a bath. He found his coat and boots by the bed and drew them on. He patted his coat pocket to check that his smoking supplies were within and was reassured when he felt the shape of his pipe. He slipped out of the bedroom, leaving his mistress sleeping, and went to find his fellow smoker.

It was, as he’d expected, Mr. Singh, who was sitting on the back porch, overlooking the stables and park, as he enjoyed a pipe. James sat down on the step beside the Sikh, and raised a placating hand when the Sikh made to rise.

“Is all well now, sir?” The man asked carefully.

“Aye.” James took out his pipe and wallet of tobacco, but before he filled his pipe, Mr. Singh offered him a small silver tin of loose leaf. With a nod of gratitude, James took two pinches and filled the bowl of his pipe.

“It comes from a village not far from mine in the Punjab. They call it _bhang_. More mellow than the leaf from the Americas. When I sit here and smell the _bhang_ smoke, I could be walking again through the fields of my village at harvest time.”

James smiled at the man’s nostalgia. He lit the pipe and enjoyed the first taste of the aromatic smoke. He blew out a bluish puff, then pursed his lips to blow a smoke ring. “Do you never think of returning?” he asked.

The Sikh nodded his turbaned head. “Mrs. Grant’s generosity has made it possible. But it will only be to see my mother, and my wife’s family, then we will return to England. We are English now. My children speak and think in English. They go to English schools and have English friends. In time, they will marry English. My son will cut his hair. He will not wear a turban as did his father and his father’s father. He may carry a blade, but it will be an English blade, not a _kirpan_. He may even go to war for the English, and fight against the Mughals. I see that time coming, when the English rule India, not the Emperor.”

“The English ruled America,” James observed. “Until the Americans kicked them out.”

Mr. Singh’s white teeth flashed between his beard and moustache. “Maybe someday my people will kick out the English. That would be a fine day.”

James puffed on his pipe and nodded. “Yes, it would.”

They smoked in silence for a while, until Mr. Singh asked, “Sir, if I may be so bold, where do you go, when you and Mrs. Grant sail?”

“The Azores first, and then America. Charleston, perhaps, or Philadelphia. I’d like to meet Mrs. Grant’s brother.”

The Sikh nodded. “Mr. Daniel Morris. He is a lawyer, in Philadelphia.”

“Yes, I know. And he’s accounted an excellent shot. I’d like to meet a dead-shot lawyer.”

Mr. Singh chuckled. “It is very far away, Philadelphia, is it not? Many, many weeks by ship.”

“Yes, usually nine to twelve weeks, depending on the current and wind, but we’ll be sailing in winter. Storms will slow us, so it could be longer.”

“That’s a very long voyage, particularly for the young.”

James lifted an eyebrow, wondering what the man was getting at. Did he think Robert too young to make such a voyage? “It is, but young children, even infants, make the crossing, although it may be hard on them. Younkers in His Majesty’s navy start at twelve, and they sail much farther than the Americas.”

“Boys, perhaps, but a little girl? It is too hard and long a voyage for a little girl.”

James realised then that Mr. Singh wasn’t talking about Robert at all. “Is there something you wish to ask me?” James asked neutrally.

The Sikh shook his head. “It is too far. Too long. My wife cries at night, to be parted from Mrs. Grant. She wishes me to offer Mrs. Grant our continued service during her travels. But my daughter is only six. She is too young to travel so far.”

James grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Very young children made the crossing, true, but not all survived, and despite his regret at losing Mrs. Singh’s excellent cooking, and Mr. Singh’s reliability, he didn’t want to induce the man into anything that might result in tragedy for his young family. “I’d understood Mrs. Grant has made it so you no longer have to enter any service.”

Mr. Singh puffed on his pipe, releasing a cloud of blue smoke. “The English have a saying, ‘the devil makes work for idle hands.’ I have never met the English devil, but I have no wish to be idle. Nor does my wife. Life is service. It is just a question of the master.”

“You could be your own master,” James offered. “As I am.”

“Yes, sir. But you have a purpose. You are never idle. My wife and I have no purpose, other than to live contentedly. I fear if we used the money Mrs. Grant has left us to just live contentedly, we would become idle. Besides, I wish to save as much as we can of Mrs. Grant’s great generosity for the children. My daughter will have a very handsome dowry and my son enough to buy a commission, if he chooses.”

James smoked in silence for a moment, reflecting on how much better a father Mr. Singh was than he would ever be. Robert was an afterthought, an obligation, to him, not a priority. “How did it feel, watching your children be born?” he asked slowly.

“Like looking on the face of God. I was blinded by love,” the man answered.

James smiled at his honesty. “That’s a rare and beautiful thing.”

“Yes, it is. Do you have any children?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think so before I returned from Africa. Then I found my father’s records of the infant boy he placed with a farmer’s family. The boy’s the right age. He could be mine. I wasn’t here to see him born. Now I wish I had been. I’ve only just met him.”

“And the mother?” the Sikh asked.

James shook his head. “My father left no record of a mother, and everyone I could have asked is dead.”

“A motherless boy is in great need of a father,” Mr. Singh said.

“I’m not a fit man to be a father,” James demurred, clenching the stem of his pipe between his teeth. _Particularly not after what I may have done last night_. “But I have some hope that Mrs. Grant might be prevailed upon to play mother to him.”

“She will be an excellent mother, sir, if I may say so. But a boy also needs a father. Any man may be a good father, as any man may be a good husband, if he cares enough to be.”

“Are you both? A good father and a good husband?” James asked.

The Sikh grinned suddenly. “You would have to ask my wife, sir. But I try to be. Every day, I try very hard.”

“I believe that that is all that matters, Mr. Singh.” James finished the last puff of the _bhang_ and tapped his pipe out on his boot heel. “The trying. It is not up to us if we succeed. Only the trying is within our control.”

“Very true, sir.” The Sikh, who had finished his pipe before James, cleaned the bowl with a rag and put his smoking things in a small wooden box, heavily carved and inlaid with tiny diamonds of ivory. “Thank you, sir, this has been a fine meditation.”

“Has it?” James asked, not entirely comprehending.

Mr. Singh nodded. “The last Guru taught that taking things that alter the mind into the body is an affront to God.” He held up the wooden box. “But this may be allowed if is used to help one meditate. I like to meditate here, looking out over the grass and trees.” He nodded at Caroline’s small park. “When it is fine, I do so every day. It brings me close to my _joti_ , the light inside me, and helps me be a better father and husband.”

“Ah, that is your secret.” James winked at him as he rolled up his pipe and tucked it into his coat. “Now I know.”

“There is no secret,” the man replied, wrinkling his lower lip and probably his chin, although it was hard for James to tell under his thick beard. “I wish there was, then I would have applied myself to learning it and being a good father and husband would be easy. There is only the trying. As you know yourself, sir, or you would not have come back this morning.”

James hauled himself to his feet, stretched out his back and gazed over the park. “I came back this morning because I cannot live without her,” he said quietly, giving the Sikh the same naked honesty the man had given him.

“That is very good, sir,” Mr. Singh responded. “You have seen what she was like. It would not be good if she felt so strongly and you felt less. I feared—” He paused. James glanced at him and found the man gazing out over the park. “I feared that you had trifled with her. I am glad that is not so.”

“No, it’s not so. I stumbled, and lost my way, but I found it again this morning.” James nodded, as much to himself as to the Sikh. “Tell me, how did you woo your wife?”

The Sikh gave a low chuckle. “Very carefully. We were already wed. My family arranged the marriage with hers. The matchmakers consulted the stars and found us highly compatible. My mother was pleased with the dowry her family offered, and so we were wed. I met her for the first time on our wedding day. She didn’t speak a word for three days, she was so frightened of me. So I wooed her very, very carefully. I told her how beautiful she was, with her shining black hair and eyes like midnight. I told her how proud I was to be her husband. I told her my plans, to come to England with Mr. Grant. I promised to show her the world, places she had never dreamed of, little girl from a no-name village. When she cooked for my family for the first time, I praised her for days, to everyone who would listen, even though my cousins laughed at me and called me hen-pecked. I did not care. I could see her smile beneath her veil. Her smiles were all that mattered.” The man stood a little straighter and rolled his shoulders beneath his tunic. “When we came to England with Mr. Grant, I taught her the English tongue. Word by word. That was the first she had spoken to me, more than _yes_ or _no_ or _please_. Her first full sentence to me in English was to tell me that I would be a father. Then I knew I had won her. She has never spoken _Punjabi_ to me since. English is our language now, the one I taught her.”

James smiled to himself. _I will teach Caroline_ Twi _during our travels, and then she can speak to me in the language of my dreams_. “That’s a very fine story.”

“Yes, sir.” The man slanted James a glance. “Will there be a story of you woo-ing Mrs. Grant?”

James nodded. “There will, although I don’t know yet how the story will end. I have told her many times how beautiful she is, and I’ve praised her virtues to everyone who would listen, despite their laughter,” he said a little gruffly, thinking of Atticus. “I have told her my plans, and offered to show her the whole world. It’s not enough. She told me from the start she has no wish to marry again, and I want no competition with the ghost of her husband. But neither will I rest easy until she wears my ring and bears my name.”

The Sikh nodded and they each gazed out over the park in silence. At length, Mr. Singh said, “Although I do not know the details, and would not wish to embarrass Mrs. Grant by repeating them, she was hurt by a gentleman who pretended love for her. That is, perhaps, her only objection to marriage. She has certainly never disparaged it in my hearing.”

“Yes, she told me about Lewis Lodge. I understand it was a sham engagement, to protect her from the predatory attentions of so-called gentlemen while she was still grieving for her husband. But the man abused her trust and now she fears giving herself over to another husband’s control.”

The Sikh nodded. “Then your path is clear, sir,” Mr. Singh said.

“Oh? How so?” It didn’t seem clear to James.

“You need only give her control. Perhaps only in one thing, a large thing. Then she will not fear giving herself to you as your wife.”

A piece slid into place in James’s head. _My path_ is _clear_ , he thought.

He turned slightly, so he was looking the man in the face. “Thank you, Mr. Singh. This has, indeed, been an excellent meditation.” He paused, then said, “There will come a time, perhaps soon, when I must be parted from Mrs. Grant for a night, two at most. She may be disturbed and upset by my absence. There will be rumours, very dark rumours. Rumours that I have committed treason, and worse. I’ll rely on you to reassure her, now that you are aware of my feelings and my resolve. All will proceed according to my plan. I will return for her, no matter what occurs, and then she and I will sail, to Philadelphia, where we’ll be married.” James watched the Sikh for a long moment, and when he didn’t flinch, James grunted. “I’m pleased to be able to rely on you.”

“I’m pleased to be of service, sir,” Mr. Singh responded.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to Mrs. Grant.”

“Very good, sir. She has not given me any direction, but she usually dines at seven. Would that be convenient tonight?”

James nodded. “And if it’s not too much trouble, I believe we’d both benefit from a hot bath after dinner.”

“It is never too much trouble.” Mr Singh bowed to James, and James bowed back, and that was how he left the man, feeling a little lighter, a little stronger, and a little surer than he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I won’t offend anyone by showing a Sikh character smoking in this chapter. I’m aware that the teachings of the 10th Guru prohibit tobacco to those of the Sikh faith. I’m also aware that the Nihang Sikhs of the Punjab use cannabis (bhang) as a meditative tool, and this is what I’ve portrayed, I hope with sensitivity. No offense is intended.


	22. Chapter 22

He found Caroline still asleep when he returned. He stripped to his skin, piling his clothes on the clothes horse, shivering a little in the autumnal cool. He knew once he was in bed with Caroline he’d be warm enough. He intended to sleep for an hour more, since it was only a little past four, then waken Caroline for the reunion he’d promised her, rather than the reunion they’d had.

 _I’ll make it up to you, my lioness_ , he thought, as he lifted the covers and slid in behind her. _I will make it all up to you. For every moment of heartache you’ve endured, I’ll give you a hundred moments of joy_.

Caroline murmured and stirred when he tucked himself against her back and put his arms around her. She found his hand on her waist, laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “Mmm, you smell like that strange leaf Mr. Singh smokes.”

James nuzzled through the tangles of her hair until he found her nape and kissed her soft, slightly salty skin. “Yes, I’ve been enjoying your man’s weed and wisdom.”

“His wisdom?” she asked sleepily.

“He’s been teaching me the secrets of being a good father, and a good husband.” James lipped his way across the back of her neck, nudging her gown’s collar out of his way.

“Oh, that’s lovely, James,” she murmured. “From what I’ve heard and seen, he’s both those things. You could not ask for a better instructor.”

 _You know to whom I would be a father, but you do not ask to whom I would be a husband. Is it because you know I will ask you, or because you do not want to know?_ He wondered. To avoid precipitating a conversation that might not end the way he wanted, he said, “He told me theirs is an arranged marriage.”

“Yes, Richard mentioned that. I understand it’s their way. Most Indian marriages are arranged.”

“Yet there seems a great deal of affection between them.”

Caroline nodded and yawned. “They are as devoted to each other as any love-match I’ve seen. Maybe their way has much to recommend it.”

James returned to her nape and sucked lightly on the knobs of her spine as he considered this. “Perhaps it’s just a matter of expectation,” he suggested. “The arrangement was no surprise. They expected it, and expected to be happy, and so they are.”

Caroline hummed in agreement, and yawned again.

 _And perhaps that is the way to win you_ , James thought. _To create the expectation that you will be sublimely happy as my wife, and then to fulfil that expectation. Your manservant has even put me on the path to creating the expectation_. He smiled into her tangled curls and heard her yawn once more.

“Shh, sweet,” James murmured soothingly. “Go back to sleep. I am here, and we can both sleep now, warm and safe in your soft bed.”

She squeezed his fingers but said nothing more. When James heard her make her little whistling noise, he closed his own eyes and let himself drift.

*

When he woke, it was to the satin touch of skin. He lay for a moment without opening his eyes, simply enjoying the soft pressure of Caroline’s breasts pressed against him. She was lying on his uninjured side, her arm stretched across his ribs, her thigh between his. He could feel her eyes on him and smiled before opening his own.

She’d propped her head on a pillow so she could watch him. She smiled gently when he met her eyes, reached out and ruffled his beard with her thumb.

“Good evening, James,” she murmured.

“Good evening, sweet. Have you been watching me sleep?”

She blushed. “Yes, just for a few minutes.” She stroked her fingers between his brows. “Your frown is gone, my beautiful man. Do you feel better?”

“Much.” He slid his arm under her and lifted her fully onto his chest. She settled naturally over him and James felt enveloped by the sweet softness of her skin. “And you, sweet?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m much recovered.”

“Mmm, and what have you been thinking about while you’ve been watching me sleep that put you to the blush?”

Her cheeks flared a deeper pink. “I was hoping . . . well, I was thinking that although you let me adore you from waist down, I haven’t done so from waist up and I wondered if you’d let me do so now?”

James traced the spots of high colour with his fingertips. “Is this by way of adoration, apology or revenge?”

Caroline laughed softly. “Adoration only. The apology is for a time when we are both less fatigued and your necktie is available, and I shall seek revenge in my own time and manner.”

“You will seek no revenge. I told you, I was in the right. Each stroke was wholly justified. Any act of revenge will provoke the most profound punishment any cabin boy has been so unhappy as to receive.”

“Yes, Captain Lion,” Caroline giggled. “May I begin the adoration now?”

“You may. This spot requires particular attention,” he said, turning his head and pointing just below his ear.

Caroline settled herself over him, her knees lightly clasping his sides, while her feet slid neatly under his thighs as he lifted his knees. _Locked together like two pieces of a puzzle_ , James thought with satisfaction. She didn’t take him inside herself; he wasn’t erect yet. But her sweetly moist vulva caressed his shaft as she pressed to him. She supported herself with one arm behind his head while she stroked his neck with the other, alternately caressing him with her fingertips and lips. James cupped her back, and when she leaned over him, took her hips in his hands.

“It is a very fine ear, sir,” Caroline whispered into the part in question. She breathed warmly into his ear, flicked her tongue along the lobe, then caught it between her teeth. “And nicely attached to the neck behind it.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” James said.

“And then there is this wonderful, strong neck. I knew from the start you were a man of great resolution from the strength of this neck.” She kissed her way down from his ear to his shoulder and back again, laving with her tongue and nipping with her little teeth.

James reached up between her shoulders, pushed her mane out of the way and flattened his hand on her nape, holding her tight to him. “What d’you think my resolve is at the moment, sweet?”

She giggled softly. “I hope it involves your mighty shaft, sir.”

“It might, madam, it just might.”

“May I take your poker within me now?” she asked, kissing sweetly along his jaw while she rubbed her wet netherlips over him.

James considered it. He was ready, and she was more than ready. She could still adore him while riding him. But he decided against it, in part out of perversity, but also because a delay would heighten their pleasure. “Not yet, my eager darling. Although you control this adoration, your lion will always say where and how and when you may have his cock.”

She gave a wild giggle into the hollow under his jaw, her lips buzzing against his skin. “Yes, Sir Lion.”

James ran his hand up and down her back, delighting in feeling of her skin under his palm. He folded back the covers so he could see her pearly curves, but pulled the covers back up when she shivered, and contented himself with touch. “Pray continue with your adoration. If it sufficiently inspires me, you might receive what you were asking for.”

She wriggled on top of him and James groaned softly at the silky friction of her skin moving atop his.

“May I admire this wide chest?” she asked, sliding up onto her elbow. James kept his hand on her nape, pressing her close. When her tangled curls fell into his eyes, he scooped them back with his free hand and looked up into her lovely face.

“What do you find to admire there, madam?”

She stroked his breastbone with her fingertips. “There’s much to admire. Your amber skin; your strength. These bold markings.” She traced his snake tattoo. “Will you tell me about these some day, James? Will you tell me the stories in your skin?”

“Yes, sweet. I’ll tell you a story every night as we sail to the Azores.”

She smiled, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and buried her face between his pectoral muscles, kissing him feverishly. “When you told Minerva those stories from your time in Africa that you hadn’t told me, I thought perhaps this was something you wouldn’t share with me,” she murmured between kisses.

James stroked her hair back from her face, but she kept it buried in his skin. “Caroline, is this the source of your tears that night?”

She nodded.

“Why would I withhold anything from you, sweet?”

She shook her head, buried her face even further in his flesh and kissed him, her hands caressing his sides.

“Caroline, answer me.”

She sighed, turned her face to the side and lipped at his skin. “Please, James, I don’t want to argue with you again—”

 _My sister_ , James thought heavily. _Somehow, it has to do with my sister_.

“You’re arguing with me by resisting, Caroline, and you’re spoiling my enjoyment of your adoration. Tell me.”

“Oh.” She deflated a little, slumping into him, pressure that James enjoyed, although it was hard to breathe. “I don’t want to spoil this. I’ve read the report of what you said to your sister the night of Mr. Moring’s concert. You invited her to come hear everything. I thought . . . I thought you were not sharing it with me—”

“Because I’d shared it with her?” James chuckled, a little breathlessly, even while he thought, _I’m going to cut that weaselly doctor’s head off like a Gorgon and put an end to the hissing mass of snakes his reports have become_. “Darling, surely your spies also reported that she didn’t come. She preferred to believe the gossip and lies, and she ignored my offer of the truth. You’re the only one who has wanted the truth. I’ve told you little about Africa because my memories of it are hideous; I didn’t want to tarnish our time together.”

“Oh, oh, James, I’m sorry.” She lifted a little so she could press kisses up his chest and neck, then buried her face in his throat. “Your stories of the spider-god were so funny. I didn’t realise they were painful for you to relate.”

“I heard them while in chains, Caroline. I lay in the _Asante’s_ slave pens and listened to their warriors boast and tell stories, all the while wondering if the next day, the next battle, would be my last.” He caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. “Never think I withhold myself from you on purpose. Never think I’ve shared more with my sister than with you. No one knows more than rumour and speculation about my time in Africa because I’ve told no one.”

She cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him, deep and slow. “I hadn’t realised, James. Now that I understand, I will not press you. Tell me what you want, when you want.”

James smiled up at her, pleased by ready understanding of his needs. He flicked her under her chin with his thumb. “Ah, my lioness, now you have the right of it. A lioness does not press her lion for his secrets, nor badger him to relate painful memories.”

“No?” she asked, before kissing him again. “What does a lioness do?”

“She adores her lion, just as you are doing,” James said. He reached down between them and rubbed his cock along her slick netherlips until it was full and hard, then he slowly pressed it into her. “She takes her lion’s cock and rides it as though running a derby.”

Caroline gasped at his penetration, a gasp that turned into a murmur of pleasure as she trailed her mouth down his neck and along his collar. “I rather thought lions and horses were not good friends.”

“Not so.” James grasped her hips and guided her into a rhythm, sliding her slowly and so very sweetly up and down his length. “Lions are very fond of horses; horses are delicious.” He slid a hand to the small of her back to tip her hips and groaned at the resulting friction. “Horses may, perhaps, be somewhat less fond of lions.”

Caroline giggled. “Not if it was Mr. Blake’s lion. A horse would be very fond of a lion who licks its neck and breast.”

“Mmm, shall we put that to the test, my lioness? You may commence the licking whenever you are ready.”

More giggles, which delighted James, after so many days of not hearing her laughter, even though they bounced her a little on his chest and made breathing a challenge. The giggles were followed by the promised licking, which she did with tiny flicks of her tongue, up and down his neck. She arched her back so she could reach his chest, where she stopped limiting herself to licking. She lipped, nipped and sucked at his pectorals, then his nipples, which had James groaning under her.

“Do you like that, Sir Lion?” she asked after a wicked nip. “Or should I call you Sir Stallion, in this instance?”

“You may call me whatever you like, madam, so long as you ride me with a little more determination.” James grasped her hips and guided her into a faster rhythm.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sounding anything but sorry as she rubbed her lips back and forth over his collar, tossing her tangled curls over his face. “I’ve never been to a derby. I don’t know the speed required to win this race.”

“Never been to a derby?” James groaned, momentarily distracting himself from the magnificent heat and friction of her bouncing on his cock. “That is something we’ll have to remedy, madam. How can you claim to be an equestrienne if you’ve never been to a flat race?”

Caroline wriggled her hips as she considered his question and James went rigid under her with pleasure.

“Ah,” James groaned. “Do that again and again and again.”

She did, obeying him as she always did and James ground his head back into the pillows in ecstasy. He grabbed her hips and held her still. Then reached between them and thumbed her little button.

“I need to bring you along a little faster, dove, or I risk disappointing you.”

“You could never disappoint me, James.”

But James had no intention of leaving it to chance, particularly after their long separation and painful reunion. He held her still on his cock and rubbed her berry until he felt it stiffen under his thumb and the flutters begin in her thighs, still pressed tight against his sides. He flattened his hand in the small of her back and began bouncing her again while she cooed and wailed her pleasure, grinding her face against his. When James was sure she was lost in the sensations, he gave himself over to his own pleasure, planting his feet on the bed so he could thrust hard up into her, slamming her hips down on him. The noise of their bodies slapping together overrode Caroline’s cries, and culminated in James’s roar of release. James thrust as deep as he could as he emptied himself, wanting to be one with her. He felt her grip him, squeeze him, prolonging his pleasure. Little tremors ran through her; James felt them everywhere – his chest, his belly and most delightfully all along his cock – as he kept them locked together.

After several minutes of them panting, pressed together, she stirred a little. “Oh, Sir Lion,” she murmured along his jaw. “You do not disappoint.”

James grunted, not yet able to speak.

“Shall I?” she asked, moving as though to lift off him.

“Not yet,” he grumbled.

“No?”

“No, my good little filly,” he told her, keeping them locked together while he turned her over so he could look down into her lovely, flushed face. “There’s a second race to run.”

She giggled happily, and wrapped her arms around him. He held her until he was ready again, and then gave her more of the promised morning loving.

*

They slept again after the second race, a light, drifting doze broken by kisses and soft caresses, as they each woke, found the other, and slid back into sleep. Finally, a knock on the door brought them both awake. Caroline gave him a last kiss before sliding out of bed and moving to her wash stand. She cleaned herself, then slipped back into her rumpled dressing gown.

“May I wash you, James?” she asked, rinsing out the washcloth.

“I’ve commission baths for both of us after dinner, sweet. I’ll enjoy the dew of our loving until then.”

That little wickedness drew giggles out of her, and James smiled to himself to hear her happiness as he rolled out of the exceedingly messy bed.

Surveying the choice of clothing on his clothes horse, and deciding that he could do little to shock her staff at this point, James selected his Chinese silk dressing gown. _It’s only practical_ , he told himself. _If I’m having a bath after dinner, there’s no point in dressing only to undress again so soon after_. But he knew he was just making excuses. He wanted to be wholly comfortable with Caroline again, as though the thing which he desperately wished hadn’t happened, hadn’t actually happened. And he wanted Caroline to know how much he appreciated her handsome gift.

She stroked his sleeve as he escorted her down to dinner, and James knew she’d noted his appreciation. _For all the stress and strain between us_ , James thought, _we_ are _beginning to speak without words_.

At the table in her parlour, drawn close to the fire and set again comfortably for two, Caroline curtseyed before sitting down across from him, and James bowed to her before taking his chair. He recognised the absurdity of it: both of them barefoot, both in their dressing gowns. But that made her courtesy all the more sweet to him.

A very subdued Maria appeared to serve them soup and pour claret.

“Is she still upset about the Bristol scold?” James asked, after the girl withdrew.

Caroline looked into her soup, and shrugged. “I’ve been too distracted to enquire as to Maria’s upset.”

James stretched his hand across the table and waited for Caroline to take it before he said gently, “There’s time to resolve your maid’s distress. Let tonight be for us, and tomorrow we will return to business, yours and mine.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Yes, of course. What business do you return to tomorrow? May I help?”

“You are essential to my business tomorrow. While I attend the funeral of the girl I may have killed, you will make arrangements for us to see your solicitor. When I return, you will tell me all about your ship and we will order any further provisions we need for the trip to the Azores. Then, if you like, we will resolve the matter of your maid before I escort you out to dinner.” James paused before turning to darker matters, and letting his tone turn hard. “Before we retire, there is a gentleman whom I must meet. You may attend that meeting if you wish, but I will not introduce you and you will not speak to the man. If he tries to involve you, you will absent yourself. Those are my conditions.”

Caroline nodded. “Of course, James.”

At her immediate acquiesce, he softened. “My terms are for your safety, my blossom. This is as close to my business as you may come without risk, and I will not risk you, Caroline. Not for anything. Even if it means failure, I’ll not risk you. You must be safe.”

She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed again. “I know you’ll do nothing to put me in harm’s way, my dear man.”

He grunted, pleased by her response. “Other than your maid, have you any business you must see to tomorrow?”

Caroline shook her head.

James brought their linked hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Then we will have plenty of time for everything, and you may plan to entertain your lion at least three times tomorrow. Perhaps with another trip to the races, or perhaps my necktie will make an appearance.”

She blushed. “I will ensure you are accommodated, Sir Lion.”

“Good. Now eat your soup before it goes cold.”

She smiled, squeezed his hand one last time and untangled her fingers so she could take up her silverware. James tasted his soup and found it, like everything else from Mrs. Singh’s kitchen, a delight on his tongue. It was creamy cauliflower, enlivened with curry and flavoured with wonderfully salty bursts of red caviar. They both ate with appetite and James was reminded that while he’d drowned himself in gin, Caroline had eaten nothing since luncheon yesterday as she travelled back from Bristol.

Maria came and removed their empty soup dishes, while James sampled the claret. The girl put down dishes of roasted duck in a sweet, citrus sauce, curried carrots, cold anchovy salad, and potatoes whipped so smoothly they were like cream. Caroline served him from the dishes, waving Maria back, and he knew she did so purely for the pleasure of serving him, and his pleasure in having her serve him. James ate every morsel, and made sure Caroline did, too. When they were done, he asked Maria for cheese and brandy.

After the girl brought them a rich Stilton to enjoy and withdrew, Caroline asked, “James, why do we need to see my solicitor? Mr. Beamish is not overly pleasant company.”

James chuckled at the vicissitudes of solicitors. “Is he trustworthy? Discrete?”

Caroline shrugged. “So far as I know. None of my business dealings have gone awry even when he knew the most intimate details. He does like to lecture me, though, on the frailties of women.”

 _The first word out of the leech’s mouth that is anything less than wholly complementary, my darling, will be carved into the man’s forehead for all to see_ , James thought, but he said mildly, “He will not lecture you when I’m with you, not if he values his hide. If you find him intolerable, I’ll contact the solicitor who arranged the transfer of the _Gyata_ , although I’m not assured of either his competence or his discretion. We need a solicitor to conduct a share transfer.”

“Oh. Mr. Beamish is certainly very competent in that regard. I’ve never had any difficulties with my shares. But he will not be happy about having to draft share transfers on little notice.”

“He’ll receive double his usual fee, which should address any discontent, but we must have everything signed and sealed tomorrow.”

“Very well, I’ll instruct him. What shares does he transfer?”

“Fifty-one percent of the Delaney-Nootka Trading Company.”

“James, that’s your company.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But from tomorrow, it will be your company.”

Caroline blinked at him in confusion. “James, I don’t understand.”

 _Not yet, you don’t_ , he thought. _And when I reveal my entire plan to you, you won’t like it. But it will keep you safe, and give me even further leverage in dealing with the Crown, the East India and your countrymen_.

“Then tomorrow I will explain it to you,” he promised. “But not tonight. Tonight is for us, not for business.”

“Yes, Sir Lion.” Caroline smiled, her pale eyes moving fondly over his face. “What would you like to do with the rest of our night?”

“First we will bathe. Then we’ll spread a blanket in front of the fire so that you may enjoy your golden lion in the firelight, which you proposed days ago, and which I readily agreed to, but we have not yet had a chance to act upon.”

“Oh, James, yes, I’d like that very much.”

“Good. Then you shall have it.”

“May I add one thing?” She waited for him to nod before she continued, “I have a sheepskin rug that I use on my bed in winter. May we spread that in front of the fire? That would be very nice to lie on, I think.”

James smiled to himself. _She never insists, never demands. She_ asks _, before she makes a suggestion to add to our enjoyment_. “Yes, sweet.”

“Thank you, James. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, my dear man?”

“There is one small thing that I will ask of you after our baths, but it will only take a few minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes, if it is something I can do to ensure your comfort, I’m happy to do it.”

“I’m most appreciative, my darling. Now call your maid and let’s get on with our baths so we can proceed to the more enjoyable parts of our evening.”

Caroline rang the little bell, but it was not Maria who answered. Mr. Singh entered so quickly that James thought the man must have been lurking in the hallway. He gave them both a deep bow before holding the door open. “Sir, ma’am, your bath awaits.”

Caroline gave James a surprised glance. He returned it, unable to see how they would bathe together without wholly mortifying her modest staff. But when she rose from her chair, James rose with her, offered her his arm and escorted her upstairs.

In her sitting room, a large copper bath sat on towels over the silk carpet, before the fire. Two carved screens had been set up around the bath, and James could smell their warm sandalwood scent. A steaming kettle sat in the fire, and a clothes horse draped with towels was set to one side. Two of the cream silk armchairs were drawn close, but not so they would interfere with the bath, and it was one of these that Mr. Singh held out for Caroline when they moved into the room.

“If you would like to recline for a moment while I bathe and barber Mr. Delaney, ma’am, then you might join him in the hot waters.”

Caroline smiled and retired to the chair. “Thank you, Mr. Singh, this is very thoughtful.”

The Sikh bowed. He moved one screen between the bath and Caroline’s chair. Behind the screen, he helped James out of his robe, and James grinned to himself at the man’s modesty. James climbed into the hot water with a grateful sigh. Mr. Singh removed the screen so James and Caroline could see each other – she was sipping a glass of what smelled like brandy and turning the pages of the leather folio Ginny Hawley had given to him – before the Sikh began to ply the soap and long-handled brush. Although James had cleaned himself as best he could with cloth and cold water, he felt substantially fresher after Mr. Singh scrubbed him. The man soaped James’s hair with softly-scented Castile soap and rinsed it, then lathered his face and shaved him. James relaxed back against the padded rim of the bath and closed his eyes.

“These poems are very unlike those of Mr. Coleridge’s I’ve read before,” Caroline said quietly.

“Share one with me. I had no time to read them before you left for Bristol,” James responded, still enjoying his steamy languor.

Caroline read,

“In Xanadu did Khubla Khan  
A stately pleasure-dome decree  
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran  
Through caverns measureless to man  
    Down to a sunless sea.  
So twice five miles of fertile ground  
With walls and towers were girdled round;  
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,  
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;  
And here were forests ancient as the hills,  
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.”

James found himself listening intently after the first few words. They caught at him as Mr. Blake’s vision of the tiger had, and he found himself envisioning Xanadu’s sunny pleasure domes, and caves of ice.

“It’s a fever dream,” he said, after listening to the whole poem. “I‘ve seen similar things while in the throes of delirium, although I lack Mr. Coleridge’s gift for description.”

“Poppy dreams, if the rumours are true,” Caroline remarked, her eyes moving over the lines again. “He’s accounted very brilliant, but the opium has made him so unreliable that he’s only an adjunct lecturer, Ginny told me.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing, if it gives him leisure to write down such dreams. Read it again, blossom.”

She did, and James let his mind wander with the words, envisioning the fearsome Mongol, black hair blowing in the wind off the steppes, as he surveyed the little paradise he’d commissioned, its domes shining in the light off a river that ran a clear, glacial blue.

“Would you like to see it, Caroline?” he asked softly. “The domes and turrets of the ancient city, the rushing river, the caves of ice?”

“With my own eyes, or my mind’s eye?” Caroline responded. “Mr. Coleridge has described his vision surpassingly well, but I rather doubt Shang-du resembles this in reality. They call it Beijing now, don’t they? I’ve seen it in the _Atlas Nouveau_. It’s in the far north of the Empire of China.” At James’s nod, she said, “As to seeing it, I suppose I had not thought to travel so widely. And we are going in the wrong direction. Xanadu is to the east.”

“Ah, but once I secure my monopoly, we will sail to China, to trade sea otter pelts for tea. Then Beijing is to the west, and not so unreachable, although I’ve heard the Chinese are not overly friendly to foreign merchants and do not let them roam freely in their lands. Perhaps sailing under American colours will sweeten their disposition.”

“Yes, I’ve read that the Chinese are very resistant to English and Portuguese incursion. But truthfully, who wouldn’t be, James? I have a little fear that the _Nootka_ may feel the same way.”

“Have no fear of that, sweet. I am my mother’s son and they will know me. Nor will you set foot on that far, foreign soil until I am certain you will be safe.”

“Thank you, James, I know you wouldn’t put me in danger. It’s you I have a little fear for, and only a little.” Her voice dropped and went very gentle. “You have survived so much. Triumphed over such adversity. I don’t doubt you will accomplish your objectives, even in that strange place.” She gave a soft laugh. “Truly, the places you plan to go, such exotic lands, they are unimaginable to me. But yes, I would very much like to see them. Besides, I have read there are lions in China. So perhaps I would finally see one that walks on four feet instead of two. I would very much like to see a lion.”

“I will find you a lion, madam, which you may view from a very safe distance.”

She giggled. “There is surely no such thing, given what mighty hunters lions are, which is of course part of the excitement. Certainly, that’s what I’ve always found in dealing with my lion.”

“I know not of what you speak, madam,” James grunted.

“Of course not.”

“Sir,” Mr. Singh interrupted. “If you lean forward, I will rinse you and then remove some of the water, fill it with fresh, and then I will cover your end of the bath so Mrs. Grant can join you and Maria can tend to her without embarrassment.”

“You have thought of everything, Mr. Singh,” James said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.” The Sikh poured a pitcher of water over James’s head to rinse off the soap. James smiled at the feeling of the hot water sluicing over his fresh-scrubbed skin. The man dipped out several pitchers of bathwater and poured them into an empty pot, then filled the bath with steaming water from the kettle while James lolled in the heat. The Sikh draped a length of linen over his end of the bath, so James was covered from knees to chest, positioned the sandalwood screens on either side of the bath, and bowed to take his leave. He took the pot of used bathwater and let Maria into the room.

“Mr. Singh, before you retire, would you be so kind as to spread my winter sheepskin on the floor in front of the fire in my bedroom?” Caroline asked.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll see to it directly.” The Sikh bowed and closed the door behind him.

Maria avoided looking at James, but seemed otherwise undisturbed by his nakedness. She helped Caroline out of her dressing gown behind one screen and James grinned to himself again at the modesty of her staff. Caroline stepped into the bath, revealing for a moment the glory of her smooth, gleamingly pale skin, before she sank down into the water with a huge sigh.

“Oh, that’s lovely. We couldn’t seem to find a happy medium in Bristol, could we, Maria?” she asked as the girl washed her arms. “The first inn was cramped and stuffy. Mrs. Bessington’s was rather brisk; the woman was a great believer in the virtues of fresh air, wasn’t she? And the White Hart was pleasant enough when we arrived, but by midnight the heat from the fire downstairs had me wishing for the chill of Mrs. Bessington’s again,” Caroline said lightly.

“None of it were like home, ma’am,” Maria agreed. “Here, lean back and let me tend to your poor hair. It’s all snarled.”

Caroline sank down against the padded rim so Maria could wash her hair. Her calves slid along James’s thighs and he drew her little feet into his lap, under the linen cover, where he could massage her toes. Caroline peeped open one eye at him, smiled hugely, and closed it, tipping her head back into her maid’s hands.

Maria soaped Caroline’s heavy, wet mane with the gentle Castile soap, then turned the room into an apple orchard with a vinegar wash that she rubbed into Caroline’s scalp for a full minute. Finally, she rinsed with water that smelled of rosemary and Caroline’s signature orange blossoms.

“No wonder your mane’s so lustrous,” James said, watching the performance. _When we sail, I will remember this, and I will tend to your mane, my lioness_ , he thought.

Caroline smiled without opening her eyes. “My hair’s always been my one vanity. I do so love it when it’s soft and shiny.” She winced when Maria began working a comb through the tangles. “When we reach the Azores, I hope to find palm oil. I hear that will make it incomparably soft.”

James grunted, amused. “It’s incomparably soft now. Here.” He held out his hand when he saw Caroline wince again. “I claim the pleasure of brushing Mrs. Grant’s hair.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Maria said, looking at him for the first time. Her eyes widened. _I can’t be the first naked man she’s seen_ , James thought. But he apparently was, because she turned fiery red, dropped the comb in his hand and all but ran from the room, grabbing Caroline’s very creased dressing gown and bundling it over her arm.

James glanced back at Caroline, who shrugged. “Perhaps your leonine attributes terrified her.”

James lifted the linen that covered him, draped it over one side of the tub and checked the state of his leonine attributes. They were quite relaxed in the hot water. “More feline than leonine,” he observed.

Caroline giggled.

“Can you turn around, sweet?”

She nodded willingly, but the bath proved too confined for her to turn without crushing his legs against the sides. She stood, grasping the bath’s rim, and then sat down in James’s lap.

He helped her, taking the comb between his teeth to use both hands. He guided her with one hand on her hip, the other under her arse so he could tickle her netherlips with the tips of his fingers.

“Oh, James!” she said, but it wasn’t a protest, and she sat back onto his hand, so his fingers slid into her.

James lowered her until she was sitting in his lap, then freed his hand from under her bottom and slid it between her thighs so he could stroke her little button. He leaned forward and nipped at her shoulder. “Expect no immediate satisfaction, madam. I merely ready you for what is to come in front of the fire. You may not peak now, do you hear me? I expect you to demonstrate self-control.”

“Yes, James,” she breathed, and he could feel the tremors that ran through her.

While he continued stroking her clitoris with one hand, he lifted the mass of her hair over the edge of the bath with the other and began to comb out the ends. He remembered Zilpha caring for her hair this way, although he decided not to share that with Caroline, as well as a whore he’d spent several pleasant days with in Ponta Delgada, while worming his way into Colonnade’s good graces. He put those two women, all the other women of his acquaintance, out of his mind and focused on his mistress. He turned his hand to cup a hank of her wet hair and lifted it to his face. Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs with the scent of it. _In all that is to come, as badly, as painfully, as it will go now, I will keep her smell with me. I will keep that breath off her hair deep in my lungs and it will sustain me through everything. I will remember this scent forever_ , he promised himself.

“I couldn’t smell you on my beads,” he told her, tipping his head to whisper in her ear. “Tomorrow, before we go on our business, you will give me a lock of this glorious mane and I will wind it into my beads. I’ll make a tassel out of it, and when we’re together, I’ll use it to tickle your nipples, and when we’re apart, I will hold it to my nose like a pomade and smell you instead of the stink of this city.”

Caroline gave a gasping giggle and squeezed her thighs together around his fingers.

“No, no, no,” he admonished. “Keep your legs open for me.”

“Ooo,” she moaned, but she spread her thighs as commanded and let James continue his plunder. He played and plucked and stroked with thumb and fingers while he combed out her wet mane. When it was smooth and shining and the ends beginning to curl as they dried, he buried his face in it, gave her one last kiss and one last stroke, and lifted her out of the bath.

“One quick duty before we can stretch on your sheepskin, sweetheart,” he told her as he dried her with the warm towels. He quickly rubbed himself down, then shrugged into his dressing gown. Realising that her maid had taken her dressing gown, James wrapped Caroline in a dry towel, scooped her up and carried her through to her bedroom. He felt the tug in his side as he carried her, and realised the pain of the torn stitches had been with him all day, working against every moment of pleasure. _That is no more than I deserve_ , he thought, _for my stupidity. And no more than Zilpha has ever given me: a few moments of crazed pleasure followed by days of pain. Enough. It is done_.

In her bedroom, he found the armchairs usually set close to the fire pushed back to make space for a creamy, curly sheepskin, so large it must have been pieced together from four sizeable animals, which had been laid on the floor. James took a step onto the sheepskin, enjoying the softness of the wool between his toes. He lowered Caroline onto the thick fur and knelt next to her.

“Where do you keep your needle and thread?” he asked her.

“In the drawer of my night-table. Why do you need needle and thread, James?”

“I’ll show you in a moment, my darling.” He went and retrieved the implements from her nightstand and returned to her. Lowering himself onto the sheepskin, he opened his robe and unwound the wet bandage from around his waist. She immediately scooted over to him and examined his wound.

“I told you his stitches were abominable,” she said, her mouth set in a grim line. “Two have torn and this one’s pulled.” She spread the skin very delicately with her fingertips as she examined the stitches. “Oh, that man, he should be a butcher instead of a doctor.”

James decided in that moment not to tell her how the stitches had ripped. _A sin of omission_ , he told himself. _Not a lie. If she asks I will tell her the truth. But unless she does, I will be silent._

She set to the wound, nipping the torn stitches with her tiny embroidery scissors. As soon as she cut the pulled stitch, James felt the release of an ache he’d been ignoring for hours. He smiled with relief.

“You won’t be smiling in a minute, my dear man. Restitching this is going to hurt. May I get you a glass of brandy to ease it?”

James nodded. Caroline rose gracefully, despite wearing only a towel. She went first to the wall with the bell pulls and rang a bell. Then she went to the night-table on his side of the bed, where a tray with a cut crystal bottle and two glasses sat. She poured a glass of brandy and carried it over to where James sat. Handing it to him, she settled on her knees at his side and gave his wound another close look.

After a minute there was a tap on the door.

“Come,” Caroline called, and when Maria hesitantly opened the door, she said, “Maria, please bring me the strong lye soap. Mr. Delaney’s stitches have ripped. I need to wash everything before I stitch him up again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl curtseyed and withdrew.

“Lye, madam?” James asked. “That seems very severe.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you questioning my medical skills, sir? I’ll have you know, I’ve never lost a patient.”

“I should hope not. Could I not convince you to use brandy against putrefaction rather than lye? I somehow rather doubt I will enjoy the rest of the evening after an application of lye to the hole in my side.”

“Absolutely not. There is nothing better than lye for cleaning. Haven’t you seen the fuzz that grows on spilled wine if it’s left for a day or two? I would not have that growing in your wound. Please tell me you didn’t clean it out with brandy in the first place?” At his silence, she gave a little _huff_. “I see by your expression that you did. It’s healing better than you deserve, but I’ll not have it mortify now.”

James drank his brandy and resigned himself to discomfort.

Maria returned quickly with a bowl covered with a length of linen. Caroline directed her to the wash stand, and rose to perform the ablutions, while James stared into the fire and sipped at his brandy, both to smother the lye’s nose-wrinkling smell and to help dull the coming pain.

Caroline returned to his side with a wet, strong-smelling washcloth and very carefully washed out his wound. James winced at the bite of the soap, but it hurt less than he expected. After further inspection, Caroline set two small, neat stitches to close the wound again, wiped his side, and spread a soft salve over the line of stitches. The salve had a pleasant, herby smell, and took away the soap’s last sting.

Caroline cleaned her hands, gave everything back to Maria and dismissed the girl.

When she joined James on the sheepskin, he set aside his empty brandy glass and took her face in his hands to kiss her, sweet and deep. “Thank you, my sweet nurse. I’m wholly better.”

Caroline pursed her lips at him. “You are not wholly better, sir. You have a hole I could stick my thumb into in your side, barely held closed by two little knots of silk. At least let me bandage it, James.”

“No, it’s better to let the air get to it now. Stop fussing, Caroline. You’ve done me exactly the service I required, and given me more in that I feel no pain now. But, then, you always give me more, don’t you, blossom?” He stroked her face, ran his fingertips over her delicate jaw and under her chin, before tipping her face up so he could kiss her again. “You have, from the very moment we met, given me more than I could have hoped for.”

She smiled brilliantly at him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Have I? I just want to please you, James. I think about it all the time, what will please you, what I might do for you. It’s a terrible thing to say, but I never cared so much about pleasing Richard. I did care, of course. I did try to make my husband happy, but I didn’t devote myself to it, the way I do with you. Is that because we’re lovers, do you think? Or just because you have been so ill-treated that it makes me desperate to make it up to you?”

James didn’t answer her right away. He pulled her down onto the sheepskin, unwrapped her towel and cuddled them together, skin to skin, under his dressing gown. He gave her a little of his weight, to press her into the thick, warm fur, and slid his thigh between hers. Caroline cooed, looked up at him with meltingly soft eyes, and ran her hand down his back.

“I think it’s both those reasons, sweet,” he told her, kissing the tip of her nose. “But I think there’s a larger reason, which encompasses both of those. Can you guess what that is?”

Still gazing up at him adoringly, she shook her head.

“No? You can’t guess? Are you still uncomfortable expressing the depths of your feeling for me?”

“Oh.” She blushed, soft rose heat rising to her cheeks. “Is that it? That’s rather simple.”

“Nothing about love is simple.”

“No, I suppose not. Such a deep, powerful feeling must, perforce, be complex.”

James nodded. “It is the most powerful of emotions. The lightest. The darkest. I’ll admit that until recently, I only knew the dark side of love. Now I am learning the light.”

She cooed again and wrapped her arms around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was extremely pleased to be able to squeeze my favourite Regency-era poem, Coleridge’s "Kubla Khan," into this story. The poem wasn’t yet published at the time of “Taboo,” although it had been written almost twenty years earlier. Coleridge considered it too odd and fragmentary for publication. It was only at the urging of Lord Byron that Coleridge eventually included it in the verses he compiled for the collection "Sibylline Leaves," published in 1816. However, Coleridge wrote to a number of his friends over the years about "Kubla Khan," and it was not an uncommon practice for poets to send folios of their yet-unpublished poems to admirers (particularly if they were trying to get the admirer to sponsor or support them financially, which Coleridge needed after 1809 when he nearly bankrupted himself during a stint as a newspaper publisher), so I hope it doesn’t strain credulity for Coleridge to send "Kubla Khan" as part of a folio to Ginny Hawley, that she then regifts to James at the dinner party. I haven’t included the entire poem in the story, since it’s mostly the first part that catches James’s attention, but it can be read in its full glory here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43991. The work is now in the public domain, so I’m not breaching copyright by including the lines here without permission.
> 
> The medicine in this chapter was a little tricky, mostly because I know the state of medicine in the Victorian period much better than I know the Regency. As most students of history (or medicine) know, drinking alcohol is not a particularly good disinfectant. In reality, James washing out his wound with brandy in Episode Three would more likely have given him an infection than prevented it. Anything below 80 proof (40% alcohol) is not really strong enough to kill germs. Before Victorian industrialisation, most of the alcohol available to the consumer was “homebrew” – made locally by housewives, taverns and small breweries. There was no quality control, the alcohol produced was generally of lower proof (25 to 30% alcohol), and it was full of impurities (imagine Atticus bottling the Dolphin’s homebrew right after gutting rabbits!), which is not what you want to introduce into an open wound. Moreover, the unconverted sugars in drinking alcohol (which are what make it sweet enough to drink) provide a nice fertile medium for bacteria to grow in. What a receipe for infection!
> 
> I didn’t want to perpetuate the show’s dubious medicine in this chapter, so I began looking for what doctors would have used to clean wounds at the time. I assumed, because I’m familiar with the ubiquitous use of “carbolic soap” as a cleanser during the Victorian period, that it would be some early form of carbolic acid.
> 
> How wrong I was. Carbolic acid wasn’t discovered until the 1830s, and carbolic soaps weren’t produced widely until the very end of the century. Using “the carbolic” to wash out James’s wound would have been a huge anachronism, so I’m glad I did my research. I discovered that lye, many types of vinegar, and even urine were used instead. (Gross!) I toyed with the idea of having Caroline wash out James’s wounds with “puppy-water” (dog urine) but decided against it on the grounds that this is a romance, not a horror story. So lye it was. Ouch, poor James!


	23. Chapter 23

She worshipped him.

There was no other word for it. She trailed her fingers over his skin, and followed their path with her glowing eyes, whispering to him that she had never seen such beauty as his male form. She traced his tattoos and dropped tiny kisses onto the border between black and amber flesh. She called him her mighty lion and shivered when he returned her touch, curving his fingers like claws but giving her only the lightest of caresses, following the path of the firelight as it gilded her skin. He traced the strokes the sun had left on her nose and cheekbones. The burn was fading, leaving a few freckles on her nose that probably would horrify her maid but enchanted James. He coaxed her up from where she was kissing her way down his stomach, following the light down of hair, and took her mouth, achingly tender at first, then nipping and biting as he growled and she whimpered and moaned at the touch of her fierce lion.

He gentled before he took her, introducing her to a new position, which put no pressure on his wound. He lay on his side, facing her, and slid his arm under her shoulders as she lay on her back. Then he gently rotated her hips, so her soft bottom snugged against his groin, and entered her from behind. He bent his knees so he was cupped around her, and in that position, made the slowest, sweetest love to her. She clasped the hand he had under her shoulders, lacing their fingers together the way they often did when they slept. She gave him her mouth and he thrust slowly into her moist entrances, cock and tongue moving in an aching, ancient rhythm. With his free hand, he continued caressing her, alternating the lion’s claw with the backs of his fingers, tickling her breasts and stomach while she giggled and moaned into his mouth. When her moans became pants, and her soft passage began to clench at him in time with her little cries, James let his fingers drift lower. He spread her soft vulva with his fingertips, found her little berry, and worked it between his fingertips and thumb, something this position allowed that others didn’t.

Caroline’s response took him by surprise. She went absolutely wild, straining backwards against his arm and cock. James held her tight. He caught her mouth again and took her screams as she went over the edge, shuddering inside and out. James kept moving in her, keeping the bright tremors of pleasure rushing through her, until he could feel her spasms subside. Then he turned her over and brought her up onto her hands and knees. He knelt behind her and took her as a lion takes its mate, his mouth buried in her nape, one hand on her taut little button, stroking her to release again, the other under her, his forearm hard across her chest, pulling her back into each stroke. They roared together, a lion and his lioness, filling the air with the sounds of their primal union.

When he was, at last, spent, James withdrew from her gently, and brought her down into his arms again, holding her across his chest, kissing her as their breathing slowed, stroking her back and buttocks as their bodies cooled and they enjoyed the soft warmth of the fleece beneath them.

She fell asleep like that, her face drifting down into his neck, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her hand cupped over his heart. James held her, continuing to stroke her back because he couldn’t get enough of her skin.

Their previous lovemaking hadn’t been perfect, James could now admit to himself. Maybe they’d still both been a little wary, after the hurt of their reunion. Maybe he’d tried to prove something that hadn’t needed proving. It hadn’t been perfect, but now it was again. He felt a complete oneness with her, which remained even after he withdrew and sank bank into his own skin; the connection remained at some subcutaneous level. He remembered the Sapphists, Lady Brooke and Mrs. Ramsay, bending toward each other, bound by that same tie.

To the crackle of the fire, to the softness of her skin, to her hand over his heart, he fell asleep, smiling to himself.

He woke when the fire burned low and his skin chilled. He untangled himself from Caroline, picked her up and carried her over to the bed. The covers had been folded down for them, and fresh sheets put on to replace the mussed and tangled linens. He settled them in the bed and considered making love to her again, but remembered how much she liked morning lovemaking and decided to wait. He turned her on her side and curled around her so she was held once more, deep and warm, inside the confines of his muscle and bone. She murmured contentedly, tucked his hand between her breasts and clasped hers around it, and went back to sleep. James followed her only moments later.

*

Caroline’s maid had cleaned and pressed the rose silk dressing gown, James noted, when he joined her at the breakfast table. She looked as cool, composed and lovely as he’d ever seen her, in the delicate gown, her hair a shining halo around her head and shoulders, her slippered feet tucked under the chair. A strong contrast to how she’d looked an hour ago, held under him, her hair frothing around her shoulders as she’d whipped her head back and forth, her ankles around his neck, pinioned on his cock, as he fucked her to a second howling release. Although their morning loving had started sleepy and sweet, it had quickly escalated into utter abandon.

Before sitting across from her, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. She blushed and smiled.

Mrs. Singh, evidently still anticipating his imminent demise, had provided another laden table. _A groaning board_ , James thought with amusement, remembering the name of the serving table at medieval feasts. Steak and eggs, a smoked fish and curried rice dish that Caroline informed him was called _kedgeree_ , porridge, tiny fritters that, when broken open, revealed a sweet apple centre, a pile of toast, tea, coffee and hot chocolate. Caroline, grinning hugely, waited for his nod, and when he held up his hands in surrender, served him a little of everything. Although overwhelming, it was all, as expected, delicious. Even the funny fish and rice dish was delightful: delicately spiced and easy on his stomach. Thinking of all the dubious meals to come from the ship’s galley, James ate heartily.

Caroline finished before he did, having lightly sampled every dish. She sipped from a pot of hot chocolate, stretched out her legs and pointed her toes at the fire. James wondered if her legs were stiff; he had held her ankles over his shoulders for a long time. “I will write my solicitor after breakfast, asking for an appointment this afternoon. When do you think you’ll return?”

“By one,” James said. “I’ll also write some letters, which I would be obliged if your groom could deliver, before I leave for Wapping Wall. Tell me of the _Fair Felice_ , so I can determine what provisions I need to order from the shipfitter.”

Caroline tipped her head to the side, considering, before she said, “She’s a schooner, as the _Gyata_ was. Originally built in Baltimore. A little heavier, eleven hundred ton burthen. Running, she can make twelve knots. She’s got good topsail and can make eight knots close-hauled. She carries the twenty-four guns I told you about, and Captain Carver usually sails her with a crew of forty.”

“Too many,” James said dismissively. “We sail with twenty, plus you and me, and six passengers. I expect you to pull your weight, madam, since we’ve established what an able seaman you are.”

Her lips twitched. “I would be happy to, Captain, but I can hardly be expected to go about my duties in a gown and bonnet. If I am to crew our bonny ship, I will have to wear my breeches.”

“We will discuss your attire when we discuss your duties, and that will be bent over the table in my cabin, with the assistance of my belt, you hoyden,” James replied. “How is she provisioned?”

“For the forty crew, but only for a week, as I’d thought they were only going to Calais and back.”

“That’s still generous provisioning,” James noted. _But, then, my mistress is always generous_. “If we’re lucky with the trades, we could make Ponta Delgada in two weeks, but we would have to be lucky. We’ll double the provisions to be sure.”

Caroline nodded. “How much gunpowder do we take? I cannot imagine it would exceed her capacity, but I suppose it is quite heavy for its size.”

“Fifty-five barrels, which is a fortune in powder, but nothing in weight to your fair ship—”

“ _Your_ fair ship,” Caroline said quietly. “I gave her to you.”

“Mmm, today we will transfer her to the Delaney-Nootka Trading Company, of which you will own fifty-one percent, so she will be _your_ ship again.” _But as you belong to me and will soon wear my ring and bear my name, that is by the by_ , James thought. “The powder will not overweigh her, in fact, she’ll be light. That’s no great matter from here to the Azores, but on the North Atlantic crossing, it will become a very great matter.” James sipped at his own chocolate as he considered the problem. “We will need to take on crew and cargo in Ponta Delgada. Sugar and timber would be best. There’s little profit in them, but we can sell them easily in the Americas, and they are no great temptation to pirates.”

“What about loading her with the ruined cloth, James?” Caroline asked. “It is only going to be burned once the claim is paid. It can serve as ballast and when we no longer need it, we just burn or dump it ourselves.”

James lifted his cup to her. “An excellent notion, madam.”

“I will write to Captain Carver today and order the loading. I must warn you, the cloth does smell a little, and is likely to smell rather more by the time it’s been in a closed hold for several weeks.”

“Charming, madam. I hold you entirely accountable for the rotting ballast. Penance will be exactly nightly in the form of five strokes for every time my nostrils twitch.”

Caroline giggled.

He offered her his hand across the table and smiled at her when she took it and squeezed his fingers. “What are the arrangements aboard ship?” he asked.

“Arrangements?” Caroline shook her head, clearly not comprehending.

“Cabins,” James elaborated.

“Oh, there are three. Captain Carver usually takes one. His first mate has another, and that left one free for me and Richard.”

James nodded. “Then I shall have the Captain’s cabin. You may share the other with our lady passengers and the gentlemen may have the third. If you are well-behaved, you may visit the Captain’s cabin at night to pleasure him before he instructs you on the following day’s duties.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Very well,” James conceded. “You may stay in my cabin if you don’t fill every corner with your fancies and furbelows. I suppose you can sleep on the floor.”

“James, you’re terrible.”

He squeezed her fingers. “You will sleep with me every night. You will wake in my arms every morning. Neither of us will go, night after night, with no hope of rest, or have to drown our misery in gin. It will be a grand scandal, madam, and ruin my reputation, but I will endure the gossip and slights to ensure that you are well-rested and able to perform your duties.”

“You’re such a bad man,” she said, very fondly.

“That I am, madam, that I am.”

 _Is the moment now?_ He wondered. _While we’re on the subject of reputations? Should I ask her now, or will she think I’m more concerned about her reputation than ensuring she stays with me forever?_

He watched her drink her chocolate, and the moment passed. _Wait_ , he told himself. _Wait until the company is in her name and she knows the fullness of my plans. Wait until she feels she has control, and is sacrificing nothing, by agreeing to be my wife_.

“What are you thinking, James?” she asked, her light eyes playing over his face. There was no wariness in them. They were open and soft, although James was sure she’d seen some of what he was feeling.

“I was contemplating pleasure, sorrow and consequences, madam. The pleasure of watching you dress, the sorrow of that poor girl’s funeral, which I must shortly attend, and the consequences of our visit to your solicitor.”

He didn’t mention the other consequences that had been preying on his mind. The consequences of Helga’s belief that he’d murdered her daughter. The betrayal that was, now, only a matter of time.

“I am pleased for the first,” Caroline said. “Sorry for the second and curious as to the third.”

“Then while we dress, I will satisfy your curiosity.”

*

James realised two things while watching his mistress dress. First, he knew more about undressing a woman than dressing her, and second, buttons were a damn nuisance.

Caroline dressed in a midnight blue gown he hadn’t seen before, accented with white lace and embroidered butterflies. _She does like her butterflies_ , James thought. Then he remembered what, or more accurately, whom, they were in honour of. _We all carry our dead with us. Is Winter among my dead now? Will she sing to me in my dreams the way the other ghosts do?_

He hoped not.

It took James a full five minutes to do up all the little buttons on her long sleeves and the back of her dress, cloth-covered atrocities that seemed specifically designed to thwart his efforts to push them through their corresponding holes. Twice, he nearly abandoned the project and called for her maid, but he remembered that soon she’d have no maid and he’d have to perform this duty every day.

 _At least I’ll also get to undress her_ , he thought.

Caroline proved a far better valet than he proved lady’s maid. _She must have performed this service for her husband sometimes_ , he thought, _even though he never let her see him naked_. She dressed him in sombre colours, as befitted a funeral and a visit to a lawyer. When all that remained were his outer clothes, James led her back into her sitting room, to her writing desk. He claimed the desk chair, then pulled her down into his lap.

“James,” she protested softly. “How am I to write like this?”

“With great diligence, madam, and if I judge that you are not applying yourself, then I’ll encourage you with my fingers between your legs, through the shocking placket of those very modern bloomers I observe you’ve donned.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flared and with very deliberate motions, she took out parchment and quill, dipped quill in ink and began writing.

For all his teasing, James did not distract her while she wrote. He had letters to write as well and he still needed time to ride to Wapping Wall before the eleven o’clock tide, when Winter would be committed to the River.

Caroline finished one letter and set it aside to dry. James quickly skimmed it. It was the letter to Captain Carver, asking him to load the Bolton girl’s cloth onto the _Felice_. His eyes caught on the signature.

“Carolingus Augustus Grant,” he noted.

“Hmm.” Caroline made a non-committal noise in her throat.

“Madam, did you continue your deception of the good Captain while you were in Bristol? Your letter to me indicated your resolve to reveal yourself.”

“Well, I did, but then, you see, there was a shop near the White Hart where they were selling quite nice men’s clothes, all made up and ready to wear, and it was really no trouble to purchase a suit . . .”

“Hoyden,” James said fondly. “So the man is still deceived.”

“Er, yes, rather.”

“Then you may get to play the pirate after all. What will the Captain think of a woman commandeering his ship when he sails it to Wapping Wall?”

Caroline sat back in his lap and tapped her quill anxiously against the letter she was working on. “Oh. Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that. James, should I write to him and admit all?”

“I think it’s a little late for that. You’ve made your bed, Black Caroline, you will have to lie in it, pirate and scallywag that you are.”

“James!” She slapped at his knee and he chuckled.

“We’ll leave your Mr. Beamish today with the deeds of transfer, which you will keep on your person until the moment you meet the good Captain, so that if you have to prove your ownership of the _Fair Felice_ , even while dressed in such unusual female costume as a gown and bonnet, you can. I only hope the good man does not faint dead away on discovering your true gender. Best carry some extra coin in case you have hire a palanquin to bear him back to Bristol.”

“James, you’re impossible.”

He laughed and Caroline batted at him to protest him jostling her while she was trying to write. Huffing in delicate pique, she finished her letter, blew on it and set it aside with the other. Seeing that she’d had to twice cross out illegible words, James chortled.

Caroline grabbed the edge of the desk and tried to pull herself out of his lap, a move that James resisted by wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her tight. They struggled for several moments in silence, then Caroline began giggling and James laughing and he released her.

She escaped, in a swish of velvet, batting at his hands. “Bad man, bad man,” she scolded.

“Mmm, madam, you do make me light,” James said as his laughter died down. He took a fresh piece of parchment out of a cubby on her writing desk and began his first letter. He wrote the hardest letter first, a short note to his sister, asking her to meet him at his offices at one o’clock on the following day. Then he did a list for the shipfitter and a letter to Atticus, explaining what was needed and why. When the letters were dry, he took the wax and candle from Caroline, sealed the letters and pressed his ring into the wax before it hardened.

He picked one of the letters Caroline had sealed, and noted it did not carry her husband’s coat of arms, just a simple cross with the letters ‘M.G.T.C.’ in the quarters.

“What does ‘M.G.T.C.’ refer to, madam?” he asked.

“The Morris Grant Trust Company,” she responded. “Although I amuse myself by calling it Mrs. Grant’s Trickery and Concealment sometimes. It’s the trust I set up so I could operate anonymously.”

“I see. Did you not want to use your husband’s coat of arms?” He rubbed his thumb over her simple seal.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t allowed to. Richard died without a male heir, so the baronetcy was extinguished. I wasn’t allowed to keep the title or use the arms. Not that I would have. His coat of arms was dreadfully ugly. A cockerel and a spinning wheel. Can you imagine? I always preferred his company seal.”

James chuckled. “My little republican. I’m sorry you lost the right to be called _my lady_ , though.”

Caroline drew close and leaned her head on his shoulder. James slipped his arm around her. “I’m not. Dreadfully snobbish, all that _m’lady_ -ing. I’ve never liked it. I’m very happy to be plain Mrs. Grant.”

 _I’ll be very happy when you’re plain Mrs. Delaney_ , James thought. _But one step at a time_.

“It suits you very well, madam. Now, I must bid you good day for a few hours while I go and pay my respects. What will you do in my absence?”

“Ginny is coming for a stroll in Cavendish Square Gardens and an early luncheon. She’ll be sorry to miss you.”

“Mmm, I’ll try to hurry back so I can say farewell to her. If she leaves before I return, please thank her again for her gift and tell her I enjoyed _Kubla Khan_ so much that I’m now planning a trip to Xanadu on Mr. Coleridge’s recommendation.”

Caroline shook her head ruefully. “She’ll think you mad.”

“She’s not alone in so thinking. Give me your mouth, madam, and bid me a proper good-bye so I know that all is well between us and I will be missed while I’m gone.”

“Oh, James, yes. All is very well between us, and I will miss you every moment you are gone.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. James kissed her long and lingeringly, stroking her cheek and throat, murmuring sweet good-byes between kisses. Caroline responded openly and earnestly, but without any ardour. _She’s being careful_ , James thought. _To avoid arousing me when we’re about to part_. James appreciated her reserve and resolved to unravel it, and fuck her until she was wholly wanton, when he returned.

When he finally released her, he gathered up their letters and promised to give them to her groom to deliver, before giving her one last kiss on the tip of her nose, and finally leaving her to her maid, who rushed in to tame his lioness’s mane.

*

James did not dare impose himself on the small, sad group gathered around Winter’s bundled body. The girl, who had been so full of energy in life, looked stick-frail in death. Atticus, wearing the same mourning garb he’d worn to deliver the gunpowder, glanced at him. James nodded back. He saw Helga’s red-rimmed eyes flick to him several times, and he made no attempt to avoid her gaze, but she didn’t meet his eyes, and James knew she blamed him, whether or not he was truly guilty.

 _If nothing else, I’m guilty of not looking after your daughter, when she placed her trust in me_ , he thought. _And for that I am truly sorry._

James listened to the pastor’s stumbling eulogy without flinching, although it was an effort. That Helga had written it was obvious, even before the man complained he couldn’t read her writing, and each pain-drenched word clawed at James, despite the pastor’s halting delivery. Couldn’t the man make an effort? James came to the funeral with little respect for the English clergy and left with less.

As the pastor finished reading what Helga had written and started the commendation and farewell, James heard the crunch of footsteps on the sand behind him. He knew it was Lorna from the lightness of the step, the softness of her shoe.

“Thought I might find you here,” she said as she approached. She sat on a broken piling. “You have a heart at least.”

 _So do you_ , he thought. _A very soft one. Which rules your head, so you speak when you shouldn’t, of things you shouldn’t, when we are not private, and are, in fact, being observed._

He flicked his eyes to the man on the pier, pretending to fish although he wouldn’t catch anything with his line slack in the shallows like that. A Company man, James was sure.

For the man’s benefit, he said, “I’m just looking for a ship. Watching what comes and goes.”

“I know you didn’t do it.”

 _There is only one of us who knows for certain_ , James thought, _and she is about to be buried at sea. Caroline believes I didn’t do it. Because her heart is as soft as yours, although she doesn’t let it rule her head. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you both are. But whether I did or not, I failed the girl and the evidence of my failure lies there, in its winding sheet_.

Her lack of understanding grated on him, and he growled, “And how would you know that? I very well may have.”

“You might have done. I do know you cared for her. You were kind to her. She told me.”

James didn’t respond. _This is what comes of kindness_ , he thought.

He watched Atticus help Helga into the skiff, then push it out into the shallows, seeking the current to the ocean, so Winter’s body wouldn’t return to the river bank.

“Well, your Robert’s arrived,” Lorna said behind him.

 _Good_ , thought James. _At least I can count on the chemist_. He rose and brushed by Lorna without a word of thanks.

The small discourtesy niggled at him as he stalked back up to the house. _I should have said_ thank you, he thought. _She was only trying, in her forward way, to be helpful. That I find her help grating is not her fault_. He resolved to offer her his thanks when she returned to the house.

Inside, he found Robert and with two fingers, beckoned to the boy up to his attic room. He sat in his desk chair and regarded the boy. He saw again himself, and his sister, and his father. An inseparable, indecipherable swirl.

He stopped trying to parse the boy’s parentage, or his duty to the child. _He is mine now, mine and Caroline’s, and he should know it_.

“I have three things to say to you,” he told the boy. “You may answer one at a time or all together, it makes no difference to me.”

Robert nodded, but said nothing. _Wise child, or scared child?_ James wondered. He couldn’t tell.

“The first thing is that you have a different place now. You will no longer live with Mr. Ibbotson, or work on the farm. That is behind you. You are a Delaney. Your name is Robert Delaney and that is how you will be known. Is that clear?”

The boy nodded.

“The second thing is that, as a Delaney, you will always have a place with me, if you want it. For now, your place is in this house, and you may always stay in this house. Brace will take care of you and there will always be enough coin for your care and keeping. But I will sail soon, and that is not a thing many people know. They believe that my ship was destroyed and I cannot sail, but they do not know the truth of it. I will sail soon, first for the Azores, and then for the Americas. If you wish to sail with me, there is a place on my ship for you.”

The boy nodded a second time.

“The third thing is Mrs. Grant. Do you remember Mrs. Grant, the lady I brought to the farm?”

Robert spoke for the first time, “Yes, sir. She was very nice.” He swallowed hard, then prattled. “I haven’t told anyone, not even Mr. Cholmondeley, what I saw. I haven’t, sir.”

“Good.” James grunted. “Mrs. Grant is very nice. Telling anyone what you saw would embarrass her, and you don’t want to hurt her, do you?”

Robert shook his head.

“Good,” James said again. “As you have a place with me, you also have a place with her. In the coming days, things may happen, things that might frighten you. Soldiers may come to the house. You may hear that I have been arrested, or even killed. This will not be true, but if it frightens you, you may go to Mrs. Grant. She lives at Forty-four Harley Street in Marylebone. I will tell her staff they might expect you. They are Indians, but that should not frighten you. They are just as kind as she is.” James reached into the top drawer of his desk, took out a small leather purse and some coins and handed them to the boy. “That is enough for a cart to take you there. Keep it with you and don’t let Brace get his hands on it. He has enough coin, no matter what he says.”

Robert carefully counted the coins before he put them in the purse and tucked it into his jacket. James grunted in approval at the boy’s handling of money.

“If you sail with me, Mrs. Grant has offered to teach you the things a boy should know: your letters, mathematics, geography, shipcraft. Would you like to learn these things?”

Robert nodded and James saw the first spark of animation in the boy’s pale face.

“Do you know how to read and write?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Ibbotson made me read to him every night.”

“Ah,” said James. “I like Mrs. Grant to read to me in the evening, too. You might take over her duties and read to us both. What were you reading?”

“The Pilgrim’s Progress,” Robert replied.

James twitched. _Trust that self-righteous prig to suck the joy out of reading, too_ , he thought.

“Mrs. Grant prefers poetry, and I prefer tales of adventure. Would you like to read those with us?”

“Yes, sir. Very much.”

“Good. That’s all. You can go.”

The boy nodded and turned, then paused. “Sir, if I’m to come with you . . . sir . . . may I call you _father_ , sir?”

“You may,” James confirmed. _Whether I am or not. It makes no difference. I’ve taken responsibility for you now, and we will be a family, you, me and Caroline_.

“Thank you, sir.” The boy, apparently having used up his measure of courage, fled.

James gave the boy enough time to hide, before he rose and collected a number of items out of his safe, stowing them in a leather satchel. As he made to leave the room, his gaze fell on the dusty bookcase beside his desk. He moved to his desk, took out another coin pouch and filled it, and picked up a very dog-eared book from the bookcase. He flipped through the introduction and read the first stanzas as he made his way downstairs.

“The man for wisdom’s various arts reknown’d,  
Long exercised in woes, O Muse! Resound;  
Who, when his arms had wrought the destined fall  
Of sacred Troy, and razed her heaven-built wall”

He closed the book and ran his fingertips over the tattered leather cover. _The Odyssey of Homer_ , translated by Alexander Pope. _I was not good to my books_ , he thought, _even this favourite one, which stood me in such good stead in Africa_. He remembered telling the _Asante_ stories of Odysseus’s travels. He was sure they’d left him alive some times only to hear again the story of the great one-eyed monster, Cyclops. One of the _Asante_ children born during his enslavement had been called Calypso, to his great amusement.

James patted the book, and realised that he’d thought of his time with the _Asante_ without pain. Without fury, guilt or remorse. Perhaps for the first time. He smiled to himself and tucked the book under his arm.

He went down into the kitchen and set the book and coin purse on the counter. Brace rose from where he was throwing more wood into the fire.

“Is he yours?” the manservant asked acidly.

“How should I know? I wasn’t here to accuse.” James shrugged. “Now, I am here to claim him. He is a Delaney and you will treat him as one. This.” He jingled the coin purse. “Is for his keeping until I sail. You will take care of him as you took care of me. If something happens to me, there’s more. This is for him.” James lifted the book. “He likes to read.”

“If he wants to eat, he can work,” Brace growled. “He’s no young gentleman.”

“No,” James admitted. “He’s not.” _He’s a farm boy, used to hard work. Whatever drudgery Brace has him do will be light in comparison to what he’s done, and it will keep him out of trouble until we sail_. “But you will give him time, both morning and evening, to read, or for leisure, as he prefers. He can sleep in my room. I won’t be using it again.”

“Where the hell will you be sleeping?”

James grunted. “Where I’ve been sleeping.”

“With that woman, who sends letters express when a Christian woman would be in church—” Brace began disapprovingly.

James cut him off by slapping the book on the table. “Mrs. Grant will be mother to Robert, and some day soon, wife to me. Be very, very careful how you speak of her.” James heard movement behind him; from the hesitancy and lightness of the step, he surmised it was the boy instead of Lorna. “Robert and I will defend her to our last breaths, won’t we, Robert?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said from behind him.

James grunted in approval. He tossed the coin purse to Brace and held up the book so Robert could see it over his shoulder. “This is for you,” he said, without turning around. To Brace he said, “Good day.”

He pulled on his gloves, turned and strode up the stairs, passing Robert on the way and rubbing the boy’s wool-capped head as he went.

*

James arrived back at the Harley Street townhouse just as Thomas was handing Ginny Hawley up into a hired hackney. James tossed the driver an extra ha’penny so he could take a moment to thank the girl for the folio of Coleridge poems. She awkwardly bent down and kissed him on the cheek when he said farewell.

“Please keep her safe, Mr. Delaney. I’ve never seen her as happy as she is today, not even on her wedding day. But, oh, I know how much Caro— Mrs. Grant loves an adventure and I’m so afraid she’ll go off and I’ll never see her again.”

James bowed and closed the hackney’s half-door. “I will do my very best, Miss Hawley, never fear. She’s quite as precious to me as she is to you.”

Ginny smiled. “Oh, I think she’s a bit more precious to you, Mr. Delaney. God speed and good winds.”

“Thank you, miss.” James patted the side of the carriage and it started off with Ginny leaning out of the half-door to wave to him.

James watched the carriage drive away, and when he turned, found Thomas the groom beside him, waiting to take his horse away.

“What will you do after we sail, Thomas?” James asked the lad, patting the grey’s neck as the lad took up the reigns. “When you no longer have Mrs. Grant to look after?”

“Sir, I had thought to have a team. Mrs. Grant’s left me old Bess and the phaeton and pair, so I thought I might have a stable. People could hire the carriage for weddings and the like. When they wanted something smart.”

“That’s a fine plan,” James said.

“I’d wanted to come with you, sir,” the lad burst out. “But Mrs. Grant said _no_. It’s too dangerous for us, Mrs. Singh says.”

James covered his surprise. Despite Mr. Singh’s hesitant questions during their shared smoke, James hadn’t thought Caroline’s servants harboured a sincere desire to accompany their mistress. “Mrs. Singh has the right of it, as I suspect she usually does.”

“Yes, sir. But my girl, she said she’d wait for me and that she’d be deuced proud to have a man who’s travelled as far as the New World for a husband.”

James patted the lad’s shoulder. “Aye, but what would become of old Bess and the pair? Besides, saying she’ll wait and waiting are two different things, particularly as the days stretch to weeks and the weeks to months. No, lad, you’re better off here.”

“That’s what Mrs. Singh says.”

“As ever, I believe Mrs. Singh has the right of it.” James gave both his horse and the youth a final pat, then turned up the steps into the house. Mr. Singh was waiting for him at the door, took his hat, coat, gloves, satchel and cane, and showed him into the parlour.

The parlour was set for luncheon, with the comfortable armchairs and table drawn close to the fire. Caroline sat in one of the armchairs, reading a letter. The table next to her held the remains of the repast, which Maria was busy clearing. When he entered, Caroline put down her letter, rose and curtseyed to him, as did her maid. James bowed and gestured to her to sit, before he joined her in the facing chair.

“How was your visit with Miss Hawley, madam?”

Caroline smiled, a sunny open smile. “Lovely as always.”

“She says she hasn’t before seen you as happy as you are today.” James omitted Ginny’s precise description. “You are in very fine looks,” he said truthfully. The dark blue of her gown brought out the colour of her eyes and made a vivid setting for the pale gilt of her hair. Her fading sunburn left her cheeks pink and glowing. The marks of grief had all faded, and her eyes were clear and bright as she looked at him. He held out his hand. When Caroline reached across the table and took it, James lifted their clasped hands and kissed her knuckles. “What has brought about these high spirits?”

“Only your return, sir. And our imminent departure.” They both looked up when Maria gave a loud sniff. Caroline’s brow creased, then she shook her head and focused on James again. “But no matter my mood. What of yours, James? Did Mnemosyne visit you while you were back at the docks?”

“At the scene of the crime?” he asked.

Caroline shook her head.

“No, the goddess did not grace me.” James sat back heavily in his chair.

Caroline watched him for a moment, then turned her head to her maid. “Maria, please leave that. I’ll ring you when we’re ready for tea. I’d like to be private with Mr. Delaney for a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl snatched up a last dish, curtseyed and fled, closing the parlour door behind her.

Once her servant was gone, Caroline slid from her chair and knelt at James’s feet. She didn’t try to climb into his lap, or force embraces on him. She knelt, and put light palms on his thighs as she looked up into his face. “James—”

“Come, madam.” James leaned forward, scooped her up and drew her into his lap. She slid her arms around his neck and offered him the comfort of her breast, which James took with a sigh, kissing her bosom before laying his cheek against it. He took the sweet scent of her skin and perfume, rising from between her breasts, deep into his lungs, and felt some of the tightness that had grown in his chest while he watched Winter’s funeral ease.

“I’m so sorry, James,” she whispered. “I can see the girl’s death is weighing on you.”

“Aye,” he said slowly. “Whether or not it was my hand, I failed her. I tried to send her away from me. I told her I was dangerous to be near. But I didn’t try hard enough. I should have forced her back to her mother. I should have insisted she stay away from me. This is the consequence, Caroline.”

“My poor man,” Caroline murmured, stroking his head, the back of his neck, with her soft fingers.

“I fear it could be a warning. This is what happens to the innocent who become embroiled in the devil’s business. You and Robert and Miss Bow are innocent, Caroline—”

“No, my dear man. I see where you are going and I will not have it. I am not a child to be sent back to my mother. I have chosen to involve myself in your enterprise. I will see it through. I know there is danger. You warned me of the risks from the start. I also know that you will protect me, as my wealth and position and connections and yes, even my rifle, protect me. If you want me to extend that protection to Robert and Miss Bow, I will. They are welcome to stay here.”

James mulled over her suggestion for a moment. “No, I don’t want to focus attention on your house. They are safe enough where they are for the moment, but I did tell Robert he could come to you if anything frightened him.”

“Good. I will write to Miss Bow and extend her an invitation as well, so she knows she also has a sanctuary here.” She stroked his head in silence for a moment. “My beloved man, I know you feel responsible for the girl’s death, but don’t you see that makes it so much less likely that you actually are? Even drunk and mad, I can’t believe you’d ever get so muddled as to mistake her for an enemy—”

“I’ve killed more than enemies,” James said roughly.

“Have you? Have you truly ever slain a friend, James?”

“No,” he admitted, immediately shutting out of his mind the few friends he’d had in Africa, and lost. “But that is, perhaps, due to a shortage of friends.”

She kissed the top of his head. “James, you have many who love you, and I’ve seen the lengths you go to protect them.”

“Do I? Have many who love me?” He lifted his head from her breast, sat back and drew her to him, tucking her face into his throat so he could feel her breath on his skin. “Because there is one lady I know loves me, and yet she never says the words.” He ran his hands up and down her back to soften the rebuke.

“I— oh.” She breathed into his neck for a moment “James, do you want me to say those words?”

He squeezed her gently. “Yes, madam, it’s something I’d like to hear, from time to time. We’ve made love a half-dozen times since your return from Bristol and mine from madness, and nary a single ‘I love you.’ I don’t doubt your feelings, Caroline. I just wonder at your reticence to express them. Is there something wanting? Something I haven’t said or done?”

“No, no.” She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose I’m feeling guilty, too, James. My feelings for you are so much stronger than my feelings for Richard. I feel a little ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what, sweet? You’ve told me your husband was not a lover to you. It’s only natural you would have stronger feelings for a man who is.” He paused. _Is now the moment? And if not now, when?_ Taking a firm grip on his courage, he said, very gently, “Or is it that you are ashamed of having these feelings outside of wedlock?”

She tightened her arms around his neck. “I don’t know why I should care for the sanction of a church that has done little but hurt me . . . but I do, James. I’m sorry. I would like not to be so conventional. I shan’t be. It doesn’t matter. Please take no notice of me.”

“But I do take notice of you, Caroline,” he said, pleased with her response and more confident that he could attain the outcome he wanted. He pushed a little further down the path. “I find myself caring very much about your reticence to articulate your feelings, and what it might mean—“

“Oh, no, James, please, please don’t read too much into it. I do love you. I’ll say it every time we make love. Whenever you want. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, Richard, Felice—”

“Shh, my darling,” James said, cutting across her babble with a very gentle chuckle. “Do you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”

“Um, no, I’m not recollecting our exact conversation.” He let her think for a moment, and she asked, “Was it something about convention?”

“Very good. I said we’d observe convention and return to the party. I didn’t mind a little convention then, to preserve your reputation. I am very happy to observe convention now, if it gratifies your feelings. You’ve already promised to stay with me. Now I ask that you do so as my wife.”

He heard her breath catch. “You . . . you do?”

“The more pertinent question is whether _you_ do, Caroline,” he said gently.

“Oh, oh, yes, of course I do. Of course. Yes. Yes, I’d very much like to be your wife, James.”

James slid his fingertips under her chin so he could tip her head up and kiss her. She pressed into him, kissing him back. Then she wrapped her arms more firmly around his neck and kissed him all over his chin and cheeks. “Yes, James, yes, yes, yes.”

James stroked her back and kissed her when he could catch her mouth, but let her little, loving fit die down on its own, until she sighed and let her face settle in his neck again. “James,” she whispered.

“Yes, my dove. May I conclude from your response that you were suffering from more of an attack of convention than you let on?”

“Perhaps I was. Is this something I should have told you? I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Sweet, you are never a burden. You bring me so much light.” He traced the soft curve of her cheek and throat with his fingertips. “And, yes, this is something you should have told me. You promised to deny me nothing. That includes your pains, Caroline. Large and small. You will bring each to me and let me ease it.”

“Oh, James. I’ll try. I will try.”

“You’ll do more than try, my lioness. You will give me this. We are a pride together, you and I. A pride shares everything. They hunt together, eat together, care for their young together. They lick each other’s wounds. They defend one another, right to the death. That is us, Caroline. That is what it means to be my wife. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, James, more than anything.” She nodded vehemently against his collar.

“Then you shall be. I’ll send notice to the papers now, if you’ll let me out of this chair.” James made no effort to move. When Caroline pushed at his shoulder, he held her close, not letting her rise, either, and smiled at his own perversity. “Has your leech granted us an appointment?”

“Yes, at four o’clock.”

“And where are his offices?

“St. John’s Street.”

“Mmm. Then I have time to pleasure my lioness before we need set off. Are you ready to accommodate your lion, madam?”

She gave a soft, throaty laugh. “Yes, always, James.”

“Then you may go. Have your maid undo all those ridiculous buttons. I want my lioness naked under me. Find my necktie and take it into the bed with you and I will join you shortly. Run, now, madam, before your lion changes his mind and takes you in here on the floor to the scandal and mortification of your staff.”

Caroline squeaked delightedly and, when he let her go, ran. James waited a minute, to let her make her escape, before he followed her up the stairs. Instead of turning into her bedroom, he went first into her sitting room and, using parchment and quill from her writing desk, wrote out the announcement he’d been formulating since deciding to ask Caroline to marry him.

Once written and addressed to the Gazette, James sealed the letter and took it back downstairs to the kitchen. As he expected, all her staff were gathered around the long table, except Maria, who was probably still helping Caroline with those impossible buttons.

He set the announcement on the table and placed some coins on top of it. “Mr. Singh, if you would be so kind as to ensure this is delivered to the Gazette today? I would like the engagement announcement to appear in tomorrow’s papers.”

The Indian broke into a wide, white smile before he controlled his expression. “Of course, sir, and let me be the first to offer my congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Singh. Thomas, Mrs. Grant and I have an appointment on St. John’s Street at four—”

“Yes, sir,” the lad piped up. “She’s told me to have the phaeton ready for three-thirty.”

“Very good. I am going to escort Mrs. Grant out to dinner afterwards. This is in no way a reflection on the excellence of your cookery, Mrs. Singh,” he said to the Indian lady who had stood at his entrance, but kept her eyes cast down and never said a word. “Mrs. Grant and I need to be seen out together tonight. Mr. Singh, I would like to reserve a private dining room at The Clarendon Hotel, if you would be so kind as to send them word. We should return by midnight. If the good ladies left any of those golden waters, I’d like to make a toast when we return.”

“Yes, sir, and there’s champagne. I’ll make sure it is chilled.”

“Excellent, thank you. Mrs. Grant and I will retire now for an hour. Please send Maria back up at three o’clock to help Mrs. Grant dress. Mr. Singh, if you have time to shave me then as well, I would be much obliged.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

James bowed to the Sikh, who bowed back. With a smile at the ease of dealing with Caroline’s staff, James made his way upstairs. He passed Caroline’s maid on the stairs, who gave him a curtsey and a sniffle. James was reminded that they’d intended to determine the source of the girl’s distress today. _Maybe while Caroline’s dressing and I’m being shaved_ , he thought. _Definitely not now, when I’m about to enjoy my lioness_. He was already half-erect, belly and balls tight with anticipation, and had no intention of letting anything delay his pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines from _The Odyssey of Homer,_ translated by Alexander Pope, used in both this chapter and later in the story are in the public domain.


	24. Chapter 24

In Caroline’s room, he found his mistress – _fiancée_ , he corrected himself – sitting up in the bed, the covers drawn up and tucked under her arms so her creamy shoulders were exposed. Her mane was unbound, tumbling around her shoulders, shining in the afternoon sunlight. She smiled at him when he entered, a slow, hot, wanting smile. That smile shot straight to his cock and he had to adjust himself as he prowled to the bottom of the bed.

He unbuttoned his waistcoat and let it drop to the floor, then unbuckled his belt and trousers. Caroline’s gleaming eyes followed each movement. He held the bedposts for balance while he toed off his boots. Then he stripped off stockings and linen and stood naked at the end of the bed. Caroline smiled as she took in his nakedness, a smile that was as burning and bright as the sun.

“Did you collect my necktie?” he asked slowly.

Caroline fished it out from under the covers and held it out.

James took it between two fingers. “Will you be warm enough outside the covers, sweet, or would you like me to build up the fire?”

“I’m always warm when I’m with you,” she responded, climbing slowly out of her cocoon of coverings. She moved on hands and knees, looking very much like a stalking lioness with her curly mane flowing around her shoulders. She reached the end of the bed where he stood and settled onto her knees, looking up at him. He could see the pulse fluttering in her throat, and the excited flush staining her cheeks.

“I appear to have a rare beauty waiting for my attentions,” James said.

She blushed crimson and shook her head.

“This will be a first experience for me,” he told her, drawing the necktie between his hands.

“Oh? Have you never tied up a lady before? You sounded so certain that I thought you’d done it often.”

“Mmm. The only place I have done it _often_ is in my dreams. I’m anticipating making those dreams flesh with great relish. However, I was referring to making love with my fiancée, which I have never done before.”

“Oh.” Her smile widened to a full beam. “I haven’t done it before, either.”

“No? Were you safely wedded before you were bedded? No dandling prior to your wedding night?”

“Very safely wedded. Richard kissed me a few times before our wedding day, and he asked me for a shorter engagement than is fashionable so he didn’t have too long to wait, which was only sensible, given his age, but absolutely nothing more.”

James grunted. “And how long do you envision our engagement to be, madam?”

Caroline lifted one shoulder, the delicate bone sliding under her satin skin. “I’ve no notion. As long as you want.”

“Three months and three weeks, then.”

“That’s, um, very precise.”

“It is, indeed. As long as it takes us to sail to Philadelphia and read the banns.”

“Oh! Would you like to be married in Philadelphia?”

“From your brother’s house, if he agrees.”

“He will. Daniel will be delighted. Oh, James, if I write to them before we sail, Benjy and Josh might be able to come, too. How wonderful will that be?”

James wasn’t sure how wonderful it would be, since the notion of one brother was somewhat intimidating, not to mention three, but he nodded. Something caught at him, but he tucked the question away for another time. He didn’t want to ask her now why she never mentioned her fourth brother, if the reason was tragic. Instead, he turned to more pleasurable topics.

“Now, madam, you have a choice. Would you like to be tied facing up, with your hands above your head, or face down, with your hands behind your back?”

Caroline considered this gravely for a moment. “I don’t suppose we have time for both?” she asked, with a glance at the clock on the mantle.

“No, you greedy hussy. Not this time.”

She sighed and tipped her head to the side as she considered. “I do so like to look at you when we’re making love. That would predispose me to face up. But you are never so magnificent as when you take me from behind, and I love your ferocity above all. So, face down, if you please.”

James chuckled and gestured with the two fingers for her to lie face down on the bed. She gracefully sank onto her front and crossed her wrists at the small of her back.

James’s erection, which had flagged during their discussion, roared back to life at seeing her supplicate herself to his desire. He moved around to the side of the bed, took her hips in his hands and pulled her around so she was lying across the bed with her feet dangling off the edge. James climbed up onto the bed beside her to admire the bounty spread before him. He trailed his necktie up over her naked curves, from calf to shoulder, and then ran his fingertips back down. He swept her hair off her neck and bent to whisper in her ear.

“I do have a great beauty awaiting my attentions, Caroline,” he murmured, flicking the tip of his tongue into her ear. “I have never seen anything more beautiful than you lying here, waiting for me to take you. Can you imagine, my lioness, how gratifying that is for your lion?” He trailed his fingertips across her shoulders and watched her milk-pale skin pinken.

Caroline shivered and the salt-sweet scent of her arousal perfumed the air. “Is that what pleases you most, James?”

“Indeed, sweet.” He leaned over and planted kisses along her spine, from her nape to the middle of her back, where her crossed arms interrupted him. “I very much enjoy your adoration, and having you ride your stallion is more exhilarating than any actual derby. But what I like most is this. You giving yourself over to me wholly. Trusting me to give you every pleasure. It excites me beyond anything I have ever known.”

Caroline gave a pleased little wriggle, and James watched her shoulders and buttocks shimmy with fascination. “It excites me unbearably, too.”

James trickled his fingertips up one arm, from her wrist, still crossed at the small of her back, to her shoulder, and watched her shiver with delight. He slid his palm back down, and looped his necktie once around her wrists. “Tell me if it gets too tight,” he said.

“Yes, my beloved lion.”

Caroline arched her back as he looped the necktie again. He watched her body bow, her creamy haunches lifting. _My pale lioness_ , he thought in wonder. _How beautiful you are. How responsive to your mate_. He tied a bowline knot to ensure the loops wouldn’t slip or tighten and gave the binding a gentle tug.

“How is that?”

“Delicious,” Caroline purred. “Intoxicating. I had no notion. Every time I breathe, I can feel the little constriction. I feel so light, and you haven’t done anything but touch me and tie my hands.”

James chuckled wickedly. “Imagine how it will be when I’m inside you.”

“I am.” She shivered so strongly the bed shook.

“Good. That’s all my lioness should be thinking about in this moment. Her mate pleasuring her, moving inside her and giving her his seed.”

He slid over her as he spoke, stroking her hips and buttocks as he positioned her under him. He slid his middle fingers down her cleft until he found her pouty outer lips. She was a wellspring already, her outer lips slick and when he parted them and delved within, her opening drenched. James stroked her gently, loving finding her so ready for him. She didn’t need anything more to be able to accommodate him.

James positioned himself, rubbed himself up and down her lips, then pushed into her. He slid in an inch, sinking into her soft wetness, before encountering the tightness he always found in her. He rocked back a little, arranging her under him so her legs were together and he could clasp her with his knees. Then he thrust, gently at first, small incursions until she could take him fully and he felt his tip bump against her deep closure. Caroline gasped when he bumped her cervix, so he did it again and again, thrusting with ever more force. He braced himself over her on his forearm, and closed the other around her bound wrists, using them as leverage to pull her back into each thrust. He pumped her hard, using the strength of his back and buttocks, and Caroline thrashed under him, pulling at the bonds on her wrists, muffling her howls in the covers. James gave her no respite, keeping up a furious pace, until his own back bowed with pleasure and he went up on both arms to pound her into the mattress. Caroline went wild under him, bucking back into his thrusts as she writhed and shuddered through her climax. James groaned at the pressure of her body clasping his, and although he tried for a moment to hold out, the friction of the position and her hard squeezing of his cock was too much. He went rigid over her, grinding her down into the bed, before he let himself go and felt a flooding release that seemed to flow up from his toes, washing over him, until he felt the hairs on his head rise, then fall, as his orgasm washed the other way, a hissing tide that left behind utter peace in its wake.

James collapsed down onto his forearms and rested his face in Caroline’s nape. He heard Caroline swallow, wetting a throat dried from long minutes of harsh breathing and climactic screams, before she whispered, “I love you so much, James.”

He gathered himself enough to brush her tousled hair away from her face and nuzzle her cheek. “And I love you, my lioness. My wife-to-be. In ways I do not even understand, you complete me.” He lifted himself enough to untie her hands, but did not withdraw from her. He shifted her arms over her head and rubbed one, then the other, supporting himself on his forearm to avoid crushing her. All the while, he remained buried as deep in her as his softening cock would permit. “There, can you feel your fingers, darling?”

“Yes, they’re fine.” She folded her arms around her head and rested her cheek on the back of one hand. James settled over her, still part of her. He knew he would eventually have to withdraw, but for now he found their lingering union so pleasurable, he refused to contemplate that moment. He propped himself on some pillows so he wouldn’t crush her and wound his fingers in her hair.

“Tell me one of your little pains, Caroline,” he murmured, looking down into her profile, the planes and curves gleaming with the sweet sweat of their lovemaking.

“My what?”

“Your pains, the ones you’ve been hiding from me. Like wanting to be married. Tell me one little pain and let me ease it.”

She smiled. “Why would you want to hear of my heart-aches at this moment?”

“Because you heal me every time we make love. Every time you tell me you love me, I feel more whole. I want to give you that comfort. I know you’re not broken as I am, but you have these funny little hurts that I discover like splinters of glass hidden in a carpet. Tell me one of them.”

Caroline rubbed her cheek against her wrist while she considered. “There’s the matter of my barrenness. I can’t give you children. I wish I could.”

“I already have a son,” James said.

“Do you?” She lifted her head slightly, then lay back down with a sigh when his weight constrained her. “That’s lovely, James. I do so like it when you lie on me. And it’s lovely to hear that you’ve accepted Robert as your son.”

“I told him today, while I was at my father’s house. If we have time at your solicitor’s, I’ll have a new will drawn up, naming him as my heir and natural child, and you as my betrothed and his guardian in the event of my death. Do you mind taking on his wardship?”

“Not at all. I’d like that very much.”

He tugged gently on the curl twined through his fingers. “As to the matter of other children, I have no concerns about your barrenness. Like your late husband, I find the thought of losing you in childbed unbearable, and I’m glad we’ll never have to take that risk. If you find yourself pining for more children, we’ll visit an orphanage when we reach Philadelphia and adopt the first waif or two that strikes your fancy.”

She giggled and James slid out of her involuntarily. He grumbled but accepted that their physical connection had come to an end. _For now_. He rolled onto his back and pulled her up onto his chest so he could continue to enjoy her closeness.

She reached across his chest, found his hand and twined their fingers together. “I would like a daughter,” she said hesitantly. “We do not have to visit orphanages. Just put out enquiries among my family. Benjy took in our cousin Tallulah Morris from Baltimore when her parents were both lost to the yellow fever. That was three years ago. I doubt they’d want to give her up now; she’ll be part of their family. But there may be other orphaned cousins who need parents. I will write Daniel and ask him to make inquiries, if you really wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d more than not mind. I would very much like us to be a family. You are a good, kind woman to be mother to Robert. If you’d like a daughter as well, you shall have a daughter.”

“Thank you, James.” She kissed his neck. “Now you.”

“Now me what, sweet?”

“Tell me one of your little pains.”

“I have no little pains.” He tickled his fingertips up her spine and delighted in her giggle. “You healed me of those first, and then you healed me of the large ones, which have eaten and torn at me for years.”

“Mmm.” She cuddled into him. “Have I? I’m pleased to hear it, James. I don’t like seeing you tormented. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, sweet.” He kissed her forehead. “And that’s not something I say lightly. Nor often.”

She nipped at the underside of his jaw. “Then may I have that as my turn?”

“Your turn?” he asked.

“You want to hear me say ‘I love you,” which I will, whenever I might without it becoming trite or tired.” When James opened his mouth to protest that hearing she loved him would never become trite or tired, she stroked her fingertips over his lips and continued, “I want to hear you say you’re happy. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Aye, it is, my dove. But you will have to go first.”

“I will, my husband-to-be. Oh, that does sound very fine, doesn’t it? I liked it when you called me your wife-to-be, but it sounds just as good the other way.”

“It does, indeed. Tomorrow morning it will be in the papers, and all will know. Do you have any qualms about that?” he asked.

She shook her head against his shoulder and James smiled at the feeling of her silky curls sliding over his skin. He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her little knuckles. “What of your friends? Do you want to tell them first?”

Caroline gave a very soft laugh. “Ginny already knows.”

“How does Miss Hawley possibly know? Does she have a crystal ball? Or is she lurking in the curtains, eavesdropping on us?” James made a show of craning his neck to either side to check the curtains, which were free of both bees and eavesdroppers.

Caroline giggled. “Neither. I told her of my visit with Emily. How I fobbed off the good ladies’ concerns about you on the grounds we weren’t engaged. Ginny said I would have to eat my words. She wagered you’d ask me to marry you before we reached the Azores and if I didn’t say _yes_ , I was a thrice-damned fool.”

“What blue language for a respectable young lady,” James said in mock-outrage.

Caroline giggled some more. “Ginny and I speak very freely with one another.”

“And what was your reply?”

“Nothing.” Caroline buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, that’s not true. James, this absolute truth you insist on is sometimes very embarrassing.”

“Mmm, and yet I do insist on it. What was your answer, madam?”

“I told her I wasn’t a fool. I know what I have in you, James.”

“And what is that, madam?” he asked gently, sensing their discussion had just turned serious.

“My one true love,” she whispered. “I know there will be no one after you, James. I think I’ve always known that. Perhaps that’s why my heart broke so very badly when I thought you’d chosen your sister over me—”

“Which I didn’t,” James said gruffly.

Caroline nodded. “Yes, I know that now.”

James grunted in approval. He lifted their twined hands and stroked her palm with his thumb. “I learned to read palms in Africa. An _Asante_ shaman taught me. Have I told you that?”

“No, James,” she said softly and James could tell she didn’t know where he was going with this.

 _I’m creating the expectation that you will be sublimely happy as my wife, and then I will set about fulfilling it, every day for the rest of my life_ , he thought.

“This is _nkwa_ ,” he told her, tracing the line that curved around the base of her thumb. “Your life line. Deep and curved. A long life, full of vitality.”

She smiled up at him, watching his face, her eyes alight.

“This is _ti ase_ ,” he continued, enjoying her rapt attention. “Your head line. Deep and long, do you see how it goes almost the entire way across your palm? That shows your intelligence, and sensibility. Your good business sense, and focus. That your _ti a_ se doesn’t touch your _nkwa_ betrays your longing for adventure. Perhaps that’s where your penchant for dressing as a boy comes from.” She giggled and he smiled at her. He traced a line that cut across both her head and heart lines with his thumb. “Do you see this line? This line is very important. This line is me.”

“You? You’re inscribed on my palm?” she asked, smiling incredulously at him.

“I am. First, you must understand this line. This is _akoma_ , your heart line.” He stroked it with his forefinger. “It is the deepest of all lines on your palm. That shows your warm heart, the depth of your emotions. It curves here near your index finger, but runs straight across the rest of your palm. That shows your early decision among many suitors, and your constancy through the rest of your life. You are defined by your fidelity, madam. But see here how your _akoma_ is also cut by this line?”

“The James line?” she asked, mischievously.

“Aye, the James line. Do you see how the James line cuts through both the _ti ase_ and _akoma_ lines just below your middle finger? That shows a change of path: a choice, a different direction. That’s me, sweet. Offering you a new life in America and a new love. And see how long your heart line is after the James line? That’s our long and happy marriage.”

Caroline wriggled up until they were nose to nose and kissed him soundly. “I think you invented all of that just then, but I like it very much.”

“Well, the _Asante_ never taught me about the James line,” he admitted. “But the rest of that Kwasi Agyei did teach me. Of course, he also told me my palm foretold that I would never leave Africa and would have twelve wives and a hundred sons, so perhaps palmistry is not the most precise prophetic science.”

Caroline laughed. “A hundred sons?”

James grunted. “The _Asante_ began calling me _oba mmabarima_.”

“Is that ‘man with a hundred sons’?”

“I think it’s ‘fool who believes Kwasi Agyei’.” He smiled at her sweet giggle. “Either way, we will have a long and happy marriage, Caroline. As I have devoted myself to fulfilling the legacy my father left me, so I will devote myself to being a good husband to you. If there is anything you want, ever, you need only tell me, and I will not rest until I provide it.”

“James.” She kissed him again, smiling. “There’s nothing I want but you.”

“And you shall have me. In every sense. In an hour, we’ll go meet with your lawyer and transfer those shares. Then you will control everything I have. My company. Nootka. Everything. Even the ship you gave me. It’s all yours.”

She propped herself on her elbow and looked down at him seriously, her eyes going soft and dark. “Why, James? I’m not rejecting it. Don’t misunderstand me. I just don’t understand why. Is it because I gave you those jewels? Are you trying to give them back to me in some way?”

He chuckled. “No, sweet. I’m very happy to keep those stones. This is so that we are partners at every level. In love and in business.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She smiled brilliantly and kissed him. “I’d very much like to be your business partner. But why give me the controlling share, James? Are you sure?”

“Very sure. I trust you completely, Caroline. Besides, if you gainsay my decisions, I’ll take a strap to you.”

“Silly man.” She stroked his forehead. “I’d never gainsay you. It’s your company, James, no matter who owns what shares. I’d never try to take it from you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sure about giving it to you. It also means that neither the Crown nor John Company nor your rebellious countrymen can take it from me.”

“Oh.” Caroline’s eyes widened as she considered the ramifications of her controlling ownership. “That’s very clever, James.”

“Thank you, darling. I have clever moments.”

“You have a great many clever moments.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “But I think this might be one of your most clever. Even if it all goes very, very badly, they can’t touch the company while I have the majority of the shares, can they?”

“No. And because we’re betrothed but not yet married, even if I’m declared a traitor, the Crown can’t seize the company assets, because we’re not yet related by blood.”

“Oh, oh, yes, I see. That’s extremely clever, James. But what do you mean, if you’re declared a traitor? There no risk of that now, is there? The gunpowder’s been delivered.”

“Mmm.” James squeezed their entwined fingers. “I’d planned to discuss this over dinner, love. Do you want to discuss it now, where your staff might overhear?”

“Could knowing put them in danger?” she asked very seriously.

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “Let’s wait. I do want to hear everything, the fullness of your plans. And any risk to you and how I might help. But not in any way that could hurt the Singhs or Maria or Thomas.”

“Agreed, sweet. Now, before your maid knocks, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?”

She nodded, with a brilliant smile and bright eyes, and James knew he’d successfully banished any worries for now.

 _When she hears the true extent of my plans, she will be worried_ , he told himself. _But unlike Miss Bow, Caroline doesn’t let her heart rule her head. She’ll see this is the only way, and she’ll do as I ask, as she always does_.

Comforted by that notion, and the depth of her loyalty, James rose and dressed in his luxurious dressing gown, and enjoyed a full ten minutes of sitting with his fiancée in front of the fire, brushing out her gilded curls, before her maid knocked.


	25. Chapter 25

Mr. Beamish was, as Caroline had described him, not overly pleasant company.

His young clerk ushered them into a dark, wood-panelled room where they waited for the same amount of time they’d spent brushing Caroline’s hair – now sleekly coiffed at the nape of her neck – only these minutes stretched and dragged as those had flown. Caroline sat demurely in her chair, with her midnight blue skirts neatly arranged around her, feet tucked under her and her reticule in her lap. James lost patience after much less than ten minutes and began prowling around the room.

Mr. Beamish eventually joined them, a thin, stooped man with the thickest whiskers James had seen this side of a sea otter. James surreptitiously scratched at his closely trimmed beard as he sat next to Caroline. Just looking at the man made him itch. Mr. Beamish sat across from them and spread a great stack of papers in front of him. The scurrying clerk joined them after another minute with an equally sizeable stack of blank parchment, plus quill and ink.

Mr. Beamish glowered at Caroline. “Now, Mrs. Grant, please explain yourself.”

James cut across the man. “Perhaps introductions are in order first. My name is James Delaney, lately returned from Africa. You are acquainted with my fiancée, Mrs. Grant.”

Mr. Beamish’s eyes, nearly lost under his overhanging brows, flicked from James to Caroline and back. “My congratulations,” he said, in a tone more appropriate for condolences.

“I am the sole shareholder of the Delaney-Nootka Trading Company,” James continued. “The company’s assets include the Nootka Sound Treaty, which gives the holder the exclusive right to profit from Nootka Sound, and the adjoining Island of Vancouver. In case these places are unfamiliar to you, I’ll explain that they are on the far cost of the Americas, and afford a direct trade route with China.”

That finally got the man’s attention. His eyes widened and he shuffled some of the papers in front of him. “I see.”

James doubted it. He took two documents out of the satchel he’d brought from his father’s house. “This is my share certificate, and this is a copy of my will. Today, you will transfer fifty-one of my shares to my fiancée. You will also prepare a fresh will, leaving all my worldly goods, including my remaining forty-nine shares, to my natural son and heir, Robert Delaney. In the event of my death, Mrs. Grant will have guardianship of Robert Delaney until his majority. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Mr. Beamish said, and after a long pause. “Sir.”

James grunted.

The clerk held out a hand for James’s documents and he pushed them across the table to the scribe.

“Mr. Beamish,” Caroline said softly. “I would also like to transfer the ownership of the _Fair Felice_ into the company. There is also the matter of my will, which currently leaves everything to Virginia Hawley. I would like a fresh will as well, which leaves everything to my husband-to-be, and in the event that he dies before me, to my ward Robert Delaney, with my brother Daniel Morris to be his guardian, and then to Miss Hawley in remainder.”

The solicitor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Grant, as we have discussed before, there is a difficulty in drawing up documents that deal with a citizen of the Americas without their knowledge.”

“Yes, I understand that, Mr. Beamish. Fortunately, we shortly sail for the Americas. We are to be married in my brother’s house and while we are there, I will have Daniel sign a counterpart of my will, indicating his acceptance of the guardianship. I will send you the original and a copy will be kept in Philadelphia. I trust that addresses the difficulty.”

The solicitor’s whiskers twitched and bristled. _He’s certainly not as appealing as a sea otter_ , James thought.

“Very well, ma’am.”

“Excellent. I expect that you gentlemen have a great deal to do, so Mr. Delaney and I will just retire for a cup of tea and return in, shall we say, an hour?”

The clerk heaved a little sigh and James thought he was despairing of an early dinner.

The solicitor, too, grew even more sour. “Ma’am, surely you understand that this can’t be accomplished this evening?”

“Oh, Mr. Beamish, it must. Mr. Delaney and I sail very shortly and all must be in order before we go. That’s why I offered you such a generous addition to your usual fee.” She gave both men a sunny smile. The clerk looked dazzled, while Mr. Beamish’s expression curdled further. “I saw several coffee houses as we drove up St. John Street. Is there a particular one you’d recommend?”

“The White Willow,” the clerk piped up. “Vastly superior to the others, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marks. I am in your debt.” Caroline rose. James surged to his feet and held her chair. “An hour then, gentlemen. Thank you so much for your speedy assistance.”

James escorted Caroline out of the cheerless room, and waited until they were down the hall before he began chuckling. “Deftly done, madam,” he said.

Caroline pressed into his arm. “I do have some experience dealing with Mr. Beamish. As long as the instruction is very clear, and I leave him for a bit to get on with things, he’s quite efficient. But he does like to have grumble first. At least we were spared his usual lecture on why I, a frail and ignorant woman, cannot possibly understand the legal complexities of what I’m asking him to do.”

“He called you ignorant?” James asked, clenching his hands into fists at the otter’s presumption. _That’s the first word I’ll carve into him_.

Caroline tipped her head. “Yes, I think he used that word once or twice.” She glanced up at his face. “Oh, James, it doesn’t signify. What matters is that he does his job and does it well, so we’ve no difficulty with ownership in the future.”

James grunted. “You’re right, madam. That is all that matters, but he should count himself fortunate that he didn’t try to deliver one of his lectures to you in my presence. I’ll happily cut each word into his worthless hide.”

Caroline muffled a giggle behind her glove. “That would take a long time. He is quite enamoured of the sound of his own voice.”

“I’ll make the time,” James said darkly.

In the vestibule, they collected their outerwear from another clerk and James escorted Caroline out onto the sidewalk. The street was crowded with late afternoon traffic. Coaches, carriages, drovers driving cattle, sheep and goats to Smithfield Market, and people on horseback, from smart men in their frock coats all the way down to a ragged urchin on his donkey, filled the street and overflowed onto the sidewalks, jostling pedestrians and resulting in a cacophony of clattering wheels, stomping hooves, calls and shouts. James guided Caroline around to his other side, so he shielded her from the street, and began walking towards the coffee house he remembered from their ride in.

Caroline put gentle pressure on his arm. She leaned up into his shoulder so she could speak close to his ear. “I only asked about the coffee house to draw our interview to an end. Unless you want some refreshment, I’d rather take a turn in Charterhouse Gardens. They’re just a little way and very pleasant, sheltered from all this hustle and bustle. Would you mind?”

“Not at all, sweet.” James let her steer him, first across the street, which was a more perilous crossing than any they’d undertake from London Docks to Philadelphia, James was sure. Then a little ways south to Wilderness Road, whose name made James smile, given the very great lack of wilderness around them.

However, once they turned into Charterhouse Gardens, the noise of the street receded. James could hear the birds singing, and smell wood smoke instead of horse and cow shite. Caroline’s grip on his arm relaxed. They reached a high wrought-iron gate with an alms box. James dropped in a shilling and opened the gate.

Beyond the gate, Charterhouse Gardens was a green oasis, wound through with grey limestone paths. Late season lilies brightened stands of orange daisies and blue coneflowers. James picked a red lily with a pink centre and offered it to Caroline.

She admired it for a moment, then reached into a bed and found a bit of ivy and wound it around the lily’s stem before handing it back to James. “Now it means what it should.”

“Means what, sweet?”

“Eternal wedded love,” she replied, smiling at him. “The lily, or more properly the _alstroemeria_ , means loyalty. The ivy stands for marriage. Together, eternal wedded love. Mary taught me floriography, the language of flowers, a few years ago. It’s become all the rage now. I’ve seen whole tracts on it. Mary told me that, in the east, harem ladies use floriography to send each other messages under the noses of their guards. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s a lovely idea, isn’t it?”

James tucked the posy into his buttonhole. “Yes, it is. You may teach it to me on our travels and when we reach the New World, we can send each other messages in posies.”

Caroline smiled and took his arm again. They strolled around the garden, following each path back to the little orangery and a central fountain. James realised the garden paths were circular, each creating a lobe around the fountain, like the petals of a flower. He smiled at the conceit.

They came across several people during their stroll. Other walkers, who tipped their hats and said ‘good day,’ and several robed men whom Caroline curtseyed to and called ‘brother.’ Remembering the place was an alms-house, James gave each brother they met a penny.

“You do believe in charity,” Caroline said to him after they took their leave of the second brother.

“Aye. I wouldn’t have survived three days in Africa without it. Adjoa Kufuor, the man who saved me, did so purely out of charity. Christian charity, even, since he’d been taught English and the Bible by a Christian missionary. As he lay dying in the _Asante’s_ slave pens, he made me promise to show every man weaker and less fortunate than I the same charity he’d shown me. While I was a slave, I wasn’t able to muster much charity, I admit, but since I’ve won my freedom, I’ve been able to fulfil my promise.”

Caroline squeezed his arm. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know talking about your time in Africa is painful for you.”

“Less and less, madam. Less and less. I told you this morning you’ve healed my hurts, small and large. I managed to think about my time with the _Asante_ earlier today without being overcome by rage and regret. That is entirely down to you, my darling, and your kindness.”

“Oh, James.” She looked up at him and James was very sorry they were in a public garden rather than her bed. _That look belongs in your eyes when we are cuddled together, wrapped around each other, inside each other, while you tell me you love me and I tell you how happy you have made me_.

He settled for running his gloved fingertips down her cheek. “I’m looking forward to our evening, sweet.” He paused while another couple passed them on the path, then continued. “When our business is done, I’ve explained my plans, and we’ve met with this King’s Commissioner, we will return to your house, to your soft bed. I’ll take you in my arms, and after I make love to you, we’ll sleep together as husband-to-be and wife-to-be for the first time. It will feel different, don’t you think?”

She smiled up at him tremulously and James wondered if he’d gone too far. Roused her emotions too strongly in too public a place. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think it will feel different. Making love felt different. I’m very much looking forward to it, James.”

 _Not too far_ , James thought, pleased. _Just far enough_. “Excellent, my dove.” He lifted her gloved hand and kissed her knuckles. “Then we shall both anticipate tonight with pleasure. One more turn before we return to your bewhiskered leech?”

“Yes, please.” She chuckled. “He is extremely hairy, isn’t he?”

“Phenomenally. I thought as I looked at him that his pelt quite outshines that softest and furriest of creatures: a sea otter. How many hats and collars do you think we might get out of him, were we to shear those mighty whiskers?”

Caroline broke into a full giggle, before muffling it in her glove. “A dozen at least. We could call it Beamish fur. I predict it will be all the rage.”

James joined her in her laughter.

*

The articled otter and his clerk made them wait again, but the waiting was shorter and the otter less bristly when they were ushered again into the dim, close room. There were five documents waiting for them: the share transfer, a new stock certificate in Caroline’s name, the deed transferring the _Fair Felice_ into the company, and the two wills. A fair copy of each document, which the otter would retain, sat behind the original. Even James had to admit he was impressed by the otter’s efficiency.

They sat and read through the documents in silence, passing them back and forth as they finished each. When Caroline laid the last page of her new will on the table, James reached into his satchel and withdrew a sixth document, which he laid on the table beside the others.

The otter talked them through signing each document, and when they were done, James held up his account of the sinking of the _Cornwallis_. “This is my account of events which occurred ten years ago. I wrote every word and I swear them to be true. I’d like you to witness my signature.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to read it?”

“No,” James said. “That’s not necessary.”

“Very well, sir.” The otter looked deeply offended. James didn’t care. He signed his account and passed it across to the otter to witness, which the man did slowly, clearly using the time to surreptitiously scan the account. James saw him stiffen when he reached the part where James related nailing the holds closed. The otter wrote his address below his signature at a glacial pace, his eyes darting across the page.

James grunted in annoyance.

The sliver of cheek visible above the otter’s wealth of facial fur reddened. He passed the executed statement back to James.

“Sir, I really must insist that I retain a copy. It looks very important.”

James tapped his fingers on the parchment, considering. Leaving a copy with the otter might be a kind of insurance, if he could get the man to produce it at the correct time. But it was more likely that the otter would sell him out to the East India immediately. _Is there any disadvantage to that_? James wondered. _Helga will go to the Crown or Company soon. Perhaps she has already. It’s inevitable and she’s not a woman to bide her time. That will set the final events in motion. Nothing can change that now. Having the account in play might accelerate Strange’s involvement. Will it change his course? I think not, but I cannot take a chance. What am I not seeing?_

“I’d like a moment to be private with Mrs. Grant,” James said.

“Ah, well, yes, of course,” the otter blubbered. He and his clerk rose with a great shuffling of papers and pens and withdrew.

Caroline put her gloved hand on his forearm. “What is it, James?”

“I’ll tell you all over dinner, but for now I need your advice on one matter.”

“Of course, James. However I may help.”

 _My sweet linnet, who always meets my every need, even when she doesn’t understand them_ , he thought.

He tapped his fingertips on the parchment again. “This is an account of the sinking of a Company ship ten years ago off the coast of Africa. It names the directors of the East India, and most particularly Stuart Strange, in crimes that include high treason. I intend to use the account against John Company by means I will explain fully later, but for now, I must decide whether leaving a copy with your otter is for good or ill. The good is that if something happens to me, the copy here could be a form of insurance. Provision of the copy by a reputable solicitor will carry more weight than from another source. The ill is that the man could sell it to the East India now, before my plans come to fruition.”

“No, James, you mustn’t trust him,” Caroline whispered.

“It’s not a matter of trust, sweet. Only a matter of timing. If the man sells my account to John Company now, it merely accelerates the end. It changes nothing. You said you were ready to sail on little notice. The additional provisions should arrive tomorrow and even if they don’t, we could sail on what is currently aboard the _Fair Felice_ and re-provision along the French coast. The ship can be at Wapping Wall in less than a day. I can see no detriment. But what am I overlooking, Caroline? I’m a rash man, while you are all that is careful and deliberate. Help me think, my clever lioness. What am I not seeing?”

Caroline stroked his arm as she considered his question. “Nothing in your account is a mystery to the Company, I take it? The facts are known to them, just concealed from others?”

James nodded. Strange might not remember the events of ten years ago as well as he did, but he doubted the man had forgotten them entirely. “The account will cause Strange great consternation, but it should not be a surprise, and seeing it, ink on paper, might persuade him that I’m not a man to be trifled with, if he was tempted to.”

“Or it might convince him that you’re so dangerous you cannot be suffered to live, James.”

“That’s why I’ve made sure my legacy goes to the Americans in one way or the other, should anything happen to me. While I live, John Company has some hope of getting its sticky paws on the Treaty. If I die, it slips forever beyond their grasp. What think you, Caroline?”

“If it is purely a matter of timing, James, and you are utterly certain that it changes nothing, then I can see no ill. It goes against my grain to have to repose any measure of trust in a lawyer, though.”

James chuckled. “And mine.” He laid his hand over hers. “The only thing of which I am utterly certain in all of this is you, Caroline.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I look forward to hearing the fullness of your plans.”

James grunted. _Not when you hear them, you won’t_. He rose and went to the door and re-admitted the two lawyers who were malingering a short distance down the hallway.

When they were all seated around the table again, James nodded to the otter. “You may retain a copy,” he told the man.

The clerk held out his hand for the account, which James slid across the table to him. The clerk positioned a fresh piece of parchment in front of him, wet his quill and began scribbling furiously.

“Would you care for any refreshment while you wait, sir, ma’am?” The otter asked solicitously, evidently willing to be gracious now that his work was done.

“Tea, if you have it,” James said. “Brandy if not.”

“Of course.” The otter rose, bowed and withdrew, presumably to order tea or brandy, while his clerk remained, writing with great determination, the tip of his tongue clamped between his teeth. James controlled a bark of laughter at the sight. _Not exactly the picture of legal dignity_ , James thought. He glanced at Caroline and saw her lips twitching as she watched the clerk work.

“My dear Mrs. Grant,” he said. Caroline lifted her head and looked at him; he could see her surprise at being addressed so formally. “I thought to escort you to dinner at the Clarendon Hotel. I hear they have an excellent French chef, and as we are now to miss the culinary pleasures of Paris, perhaps a meal at the Clarendon will make up for our loss.”

She gave him a dimpled smile. “Oh, yes, please, Mr. Delaney. I’d like that very much.”

James moderated his grunt of approval to a hum.

The otter returned, with yet another black-frocked clerk trailing in his wake, pushing a little cart set with a tea-pot, flask, cups and glasses, which rattled as the cart bumped over the uneven floorboards. Both James and Caroline took tea, and while the otter’s hospitality might be lacking in graciousness, it lacked nothing in flavour. James complemented the oolong while the otter helped himself to a large brandy.

“Mrs. Grant, if I may inquire,” the otter began. “When do you intend to sail?”

“Within the next few days,” Caroline said, and James could tell from her tone that she was choosing her words carefully. “The ship’s just being loaded and then we’re hoping to make way before the weather turns.”

The otter nodded, his whiskers shivering and gleaming in the candlelight. “Yes, yes, one can’t expect this calm weather to last forever. I pray your crossing to the city of your birth will not be beset by storms.”

“Winter is the better time to cross the North Atlantic,” James informed him. “The trades are strong and favourable and there are no hurricanes. I hope to make Philadelphia in ten weeks.”

The otter looked at him in surprise, clearly not realising that James would be _sailing_ the ship in question. “Very good, sir. And you will be married in Philadelphia, you said.” At James’s nod he continued, “I have always wanted to see Philadelphia. All the cities of the New World, actually. I hear tell that New York may someday rival our fair city.”

Caroline gave a polite titter into her glove. “Surely not, Mr. Beamish.”

The otter smiled at her. “Well, perhaps not. London is the mother of all cities. But there is much to be said for the vivacity of the Colonies. Beg pardon, I mean the Free Fifteen. Do you intend to settle in the New World after you’re wed?”

James nodded. “We will buy a house in Philadelphia so Mrs. Grant can be close to her family.”

He watched Caroline as he spoke, and was impressed by her control. She neither glanced at him nor showed any sign of surprise, just continued calmly sipping her tea, as though they’d discussed this a hundred times.

“Yes, yes, it’s only right that you be close to your family, Mrs. Grant, after such a long separation. Are all your brothers married now?”

Caroline shook her head delicately. “I do have hopes for my oldest brother, though. His latest letters speak of his attachment to the widow of his childhood friend, a Mrs. Cutler. Mrs. Cutler has two young children, so I’ve no doubt she is much in need of a father and husband. My brother always said he didn’t want a family, but I have hopes she will change his mind. He does seem very fond of her and her two boys. As for my youngest brother.” Caroline lifted one shoulder. “I have not much hope. He’s very wild and seems to enjoy the company of horses and cattle more than ladies. But perhaps there are cowgirls out there in the vast Missouri Territory who might tempt him to settle down?”

The otter laughed, a little too heartily, whiskers shimmying. “To cowgirls.” He lifted his brandy in a mock toast. Caroline and James lifted their teacups in return.

The clerk wiped his upper lip and set down his quill empathically. “Done, sir,” he said.

“Yes, yes, do read it through carefully to ensure you have every word right,” the otter grumbled before taking another healthy sip of brandy and refilling his glass. “Can’t hurry these things.”

“Yes, sir.” With a resigned glance at his pocket-watch, which told James it was well past five, the clerk set back to his work.

“And you, Mr. Delaney? What will you do in Philadelphia?” the otter asked, before half-emptying his glass. “Will you join Mr. Morris in the law?”

James controlled a snort. “No, Mr. Beamish, the law holds no appeal for me.”

“Ah, shame, shame. Can’t have too many brothers in the law. Civilising influence, you know, the law. Very important for a place as wild as the Americas. What will you do, then?”

“I’m a merchant,” James said. “I will use Philadelphia as a base and continue my trade to the west. I hope to sail as far as China someday.”

“Goodness gracious,” the otter exclaimed. “That’s very far. Surely such a trip takes years?”

“Yes, at least a year,” James agreed.

“It’s very good that you leave Mrs. Grant in the bosom of her family, then, if you plan to be gone so long. Women cannot go for too long without a man’s guiding hand, you know. A year.” The otter _tutted_. “Much too long. Much too long by half for a woman to be on her own without her husband’s guidance. Good thing Mrs. Grant’s elder brother will be there to take her in hand.”

James heard Caroline’s small sigh, but doubted the otter did. He also doubted the otter would understand her annoyance.

“I have no intention of leaving my wife without my guidance for any period of time,” James said, with a wicked smile he thought only Caroline would comprehend. “Mrs. Grant will, of course, accompany me in my travels.”

“But-but-but, a year!” The otter blustered. “Surely you cannot mean to travel for so long, ma’am. And so far! A woman sail to China? Unheard of.”

James decided not to educate the otter on the missionaries, merchants and even pirates of the fair sex who had sailed to China. “Mrs. Grant is a fine traveller. There will be no difficulties. She brings grace and light wherever she goes, and will be admired from the West Indies all the way to Hong Kong.”

“Well-well-well, I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Evidently not,” James replied evenly. “Now, if your man is finished, our travels must begin with a drive to Mayfair. Are you finished, Mr. Marks?”

The clerk looked up at his name. “Oh, yes, sir, yes, I am. Here is your account.” The clerk slid the statement back across the table to James, who deposited it into his satchel.

“Thank you. Good day, gentlemen.” James rose and offered Caroline his arm.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Beamish, Mr. Marks. A very good day to you both.”

They left the otter and his clerk bowing, the otter gripping the copy of James’s account with a feverish expression. _He’ll sell me to John Company before we reach Oxford Street_ , James thought with disgust. But he said nothing as he escorted Caroline to her phaeton, which they’d left in the spacious yard behind the solicitor’s offices. The horses, who had each had a nose-bag of oats while they waited, were frisky and pranced as they turned onto St. John’s Street. In the heavy evening traffic, James could not let them have their heads.

“Easy, my good girls,” he said to them in _Twi_. “Soon you’ll be pulling giddy newlyweds and eating oats three times a day.”

The horses apparently understood the African tongue perfectly, for they settled and picked their way through the traffic with a great deal more care and common sense than most horses of James’s acquaintance. Past Smithfield bar, the market traffic ended and the street opened up. James gave the pair a little more reign and they trotted down Fleet Street, shaking their heads so the bells on their bridles jangled and sang.

“I should be taking you to Hyde Park, madam,” James said to Caroline when they left the noise of the drovers behind them and could speak without shouting. “It’s still the hour for the smart set to have a drive up Rotten Row and show off their fine carriages and clothes.”

“Mmm.” Caroline leaned into him, clasping his arm lightly but not interfering with his driving. “Something I’ve never cared for, ostentatious displays of wealth.”

 _No, you are always modest and humble, my linnet_ , James thought. _Hiding your red breast behind your drab_.

“Have you never felt the temptation to make an ostentatious display, darling? Never wanted to throw your merchantly success in all of those blue-blood faces? I know your wealth is the equal of theirs.”

“Probably much more,” Caroline admitted. “Richard was very successful, and once I rid myself of his appalling partners, I was able to build on that success. It’s crass, of course, to know how much one’s worth, but I’m a merchant’s daughter and a merchant’s wife, and I know to the penny. But in answer to your question, my dear man, no, I’ve never felt the temptation to make an ostentatious display. It makes me feel quite sick, watching them drive around in their carriages and tophats and silks, knowing that the servants who cleaned and buffed and shined them are not paid enough to feed their families, and the tradesmen who sold them their fancy _equipage_ won’t be timely paid because those _gentlemen_ will have thrown away this quarter’s rents in the gaming hells. I hate it, James, you know I do.”

“Yes, my sweet republican. I should have remembered. May I ask why, darling, if you care nothing for wealth, why have you amassed so much of it?”

Caroline laughed throatily. “I’m not a saint, James. I do very much like nice things. I love my peaceful little house, and my pretty clothes and my books. I like being able to throw parties for my friends and not worry about the expense. But more than all of that, I’ve loved endowing the academy, and building the factory for the Bolton girls, and giving Ginny and my staff their freedom. I even liked giving those gems to you, although you didn’t seem to want them—”

“You mistake me, madam. I’m most grateful, now that I’m assured they’re not a parting gift,” James said.

Caroline squeezed his arm. “They were never that.”

“So you’ll continue your merchantly ways as my wife, then, eh? Quietly amassing a fortune and giving it away to the causes and people close to your heart?”

“I suppose, if you look at it that way. I do seem to have some talent for business, James. It would be a shame to waste it and spend my days embroidering cushions. I really do think there are enough embroidered cushions in the world.”

James chuckled. “Undoubtedly, madam, and I’m perfectly happy to have our future home be wholly lacking in embroidered cushions.”

“Do you really want to buy a house in Philadelphia?” she asked.

“I do. I want a house for us to return to when we’re tired of travelling, and where Robert can stay if he doesn’t take to the sea.”

Caroline nodded, her bonnet brim bobbing in the corner of his eye. “There won’t be any difficulty with that. All of my brothers attended an excellent boy’s school in Philadelphia. Robert can board there during the week and spend the weekends with my brothers while we’re away.”

James navigated the turn onto Oxford Street before he asked her, “Caroline, you never mention your fourth brother. Is there some secret there I should know?”

“Tobias? No, no secret. We’re just not close. He’s, well, he’s always been a funny sort. He never wanted to play with us when we were children. He’s a good bit older than Josh and I; close to Daniel’s age, but Daniel always made time to play with us. Toby never did. He was always very precise in his ways. I think my earliest memory of him is watching him folding his shirts and lining them up on his shelf. All the corners had to square perfectly. He made me stand across the room while he did it. I wasn’t ever to come near his things because I was a dirty doxie who couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” She gave a small, sad laugh and James realised that although she’d denied it, this was another of those places of pain she hid from him. “He’s perfectly situated now. He’s a quartermaster with the First Infantry. He can keep his inventories and square his corners to his heart’s content. I believe he’s stationed on the north-western frontier, although Toby almost never writes so I’m not sure.”

 _Good riddance, then_ , James thought. “That’s a great relief, sweet,” he said.

“A relief? How so?”

“To know I only have to beard three of your brothers rather than four.”

“Oh, James.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t be silly. My brothers will adore you. Just as I do.”

“I hope not _exactly_ in the way you do, my darling. That would be very awkward if I had to fend off their advances.”

She batted at his thigh. “Bad man.”

James laughed. “One thing I would like to make clear, Caroline.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“You were never a dirty doxie.” He held out his elbow so she could wrap her hands around his arm again and lean into him. “Older brothers know the exact thing to say to squash their little sisters, and I can see that your brother’s disdain was another source of the shame you have carried so unjustly for so long. I’ll admit that you have trouble keeping your hands to yourself, but I find that a virtue rather than a vice, so I’ll thank you to continue it, madam.”

She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “Thank you, James.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”


	26. Chapter 26

They reached Mayfair and the Clarendon Hotel before six. Standing in the hotel’s marble lobby as they waited for the _maître d’hôtel,_ James felt a twitch of concern that they would have to wait for their private dining room, as they were unfashionably early for dining out. _I don’t want to expose Caroline to any further censure, as a woman dining in mixed company_ , he thought. But his concern was unfounded. Mr. Singh had, with his usual efficiency, reserved the private dining room for the entire night, and the _maître d’_ immediately showed them to it: a small, but well-appointed room decorated in cream and an abundance of gilt and mirrors. The table, three times the size of the one they usually ate off at Caroline’s, was already set for two, with what seemed like an excess of white linen, silverware, china, and crystal to James’s eye, after becoming accustomed to the spare elegance of Caroline’s table. James didn’t miss that there was a settee discretely tucked against one wall, near the fire, and wondered if the hotel offered more amenities than just private dining rooms and a French chef.

A white-gloved waiter took their outerwear, seated them and offered hand-written menus, while the _maître d’_ recommended the veal and burgundy, to which both James and Caroline agreed. After pouring their wine, the wait-staff withdrew with the promise that soup would be served in a half-hour. James moved his chair so he and Caroline were sitting side by side, then turned his chair at an angle so he could look at Caroline’s face instead of the fire or cutlery.

Caroline sat back in her chair and sipped her wine. “This is very nice, James, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, sweet. I am sorry to deprive you of the delights of Parisian cuisine.”

Caroline waved that away. “I’ve been to Paris several times. The food was very good, but I feel no crushing loss.”

“Mmm. I’ll admit that while I was last in the Azores I paid little attention to the cuisine, but I will dedicate myself to finding the finest restaurant in Ponta Delgada when we arrive and taking you there every night.”

Caroline gave a small laugh. “Portuguese cuisine, hmm. I’m not sure it has a great deal to recommend it. But their wine is very good.”

“So is this.” James lifted his glass to her before taking another sip of the fine burgundy. “You’re doing very well, madam.”

“Very well at what, sir? I should hope I can keep my head against a few sips of strong wine.”

James waggled his finger at her. “No, no, no. You’re showing remarkable restraint. Surely you’re very curious about my plans?”

“Oh, I am.” She took another sip, and James watched with fascination as the wine stained her lips a deep rose before she licked them clean. “But I rather like it when you tell me things in your own time. Do you remember how you said the thing you liked most was when I gave myself to you? Well, I find myself liking that very much, too. There’s pleasure in giving myself over to you, in all things, big and small. So I’m perfectly content for you to tell me what and when you will.”

Surprised, and gratified down to the very soles of his feet, James reached out and took her hand. He brought it to his lips and pressed a firm, warm kiss to her knuckles. “You delight me, dove.”

She smiled at him. “But I am very curious.”

“Of course you are.” He chuckled. “Where to begin, my darling?”

“You promised me the fullness of your plans.” Her smile widened and James saw the tiny fangs behind it. “Begin at the beginning.”

“A-ah-ah, now I see. You’re not so much _content_ to wait as _lying_ in wait. Stalking, planning your ambush, like a good lioness.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Of course.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my mate.” James lifted his glass to her. “Begin at the beginning, eh? The beginning is my father, Captain Horace Delaney, who sailed to the ends of the Earth, and always behind him, dogging his every step, was the East India. Strange and the other directors doubtless thought too little of him to ruin him deliberately. It was just business. But ruin him they did. They hounded him; they undermined every deal; they sucked away every profit. My father, who once owned three ships and traded spirits, silks, furs, timber and tea all around the world, died penniless, mad, and alone. Whether Brace or Miss Bow or he himself brought about his end, the seeds of it were planted long ago, by the _Honourable_ East India Company.”

Caroline nodded and watched him with those light, intelligent, soulful eyes, but did not interrupt him or ask questions. She simply listened. And James found himself telling her more than he’d ever intended.

“It might surprise you, hearing of this enmity, to know that my father sent me to be schooled at Woolwich. I believe he wanted me to learn the Company’s methods, the better to oppose them when I took his place. My father bought me a commission, which must have strained his resources, although he said nothing of it and I was too young to understand. I thought he was simply sending me away. My stepmother feared me, and feared my relationship with my half-sister, which was already far outside the bounds of propriety. I took my commission as a punishment, which it might also have been.”

James paused and took a sip of wine to wet his throat, and waited to see if Caroline would ask questions. She didn’t, just nodded again and listened, so he continued, “I was not a good cadet. No one could fault my pupillage. I always earned the highest marks from my tutors; I was the first in my class to make lieutenant. But I also earned their despair. I drank and whored my way through the last three years of the academy, earning demerit after demerit, punishment after punishment. I was facing a flogging that Easter when I went home for the holiday and found Zilpha with the bowswain’s boy. My father turned me out and I slept for two days in the stable of a coaching inn until school opened again. My history tutor, who was more fond of me than I deserved, offered me the assignation to Africa instead of the beating I’d earned and I took it more to get away from my sister than the pain, although I still feared pain back then.”

Caroline said nothing, but reached out with her free hand and squeezed his. James closed his hand around hers and rested their joined hands on his thigh.

“I’d not lived at my father’s house for six years. I didn’t see, day by day, what they were doing to him. But when he threw me out, he made sure I knew. He told me I was man enough to know not to meddle with my sister, and man enough to know the truth of John Company. He told me how they’d ruined his ventures, ensuring that he and his partners saw no profit, until he had no more partners and had to bear the full cost of each trip himself. From saboteurs on his ships to flooding the market with competing goods to drive down prices, there was no length to which they would not go, no depth to which they would not stoop.” James shifted in his chair, which was stiff enough to remind him of the chairs at his father’s table, and remembered his father’s face during that final confrontation. His father had never yelled, and had gone white in anger rather than red. James had always feared that pinched, white face more than any florid fury. “I was a fool then,” he admitted softly. “I thought I owed the Company a debt. I defended them. I told my father he was feeble-minded and that was why his business ventures failed. I told him I’d found only honourable men amongst the East India—”

James broke off in a humourless chuckle. Caroline squeezed his fingers again.

“That wasn’t true, even then,” he told her. “I said it to wound him; I knew what they were already. I’d seen enough, heard enough, to know their only god was profit and they shit on fairness, mercy, charity. They pretended to be honourable and upright, but they were hollow with corruption. I knew all that then, but I lied to hurt him. That’s what I regret most now. He threw me out in a kind of despair, and looking back on it with a man’s eyes, I realise that’s because he thought me deceived. He might have forgiven me my lust for my sister, but he could not forgive my loyalty to those hollow, corrupt men.”

Caroline stroked the back of his hand with her thumb and watched him, her loving heart in her eyes. James smiled gently at her.

“That is the beginning,” he told her. “The middle is me reaping what I’d sown. I sailed to Cabinda on a Company ship, under the direct command of Stuart Strange. He was Commodore Strange then, commanding six ships. He tapped me himself for the second leg of the trip, across the ocean to Antigua, on a ship they renamed the _Influence_. He ordered me himself to strike the colours and raise the stars and stripes, and it was under American colours that we sailed. Strange himself was not aboard, but nearly three hundred African slaves were. More than twice what the ship could carry. We made poor headway even in two days of good seas, riding too low and listing. Then we hit the first hurricane. Without stars or the moon or any more navigational sense than a goat, the Captain drove the ship onto a reef. We foundered and began to break apart, but not before the Captain ordered me to nail shut the holds.”

James stopped and took a deep breath. While he was letting it out, Caroline finally spoke.

“Which you did, following your orders,” she said, her eyes tender on his face.

 _You know, don’t you, my linnet?_ James thought. _Have you always known? All this time, while I thought I was concealing the worst of my past from you, have you known and never judged?_

“Bodies washed up for days,” he said. “Adjoa Kufuor said I was the only one that breathed.”

“How did you survive, James?” she asked gently.

He shrugged. “I have no memory. I remember swimming while the waves crashed over my head. I remember floating, with the sun beating down on my face and sharks bumping me from beneath, but they already had a feast, so none of them ever took a bite. I have no idea why I lived to wash up on that far shore, while all the others died.”

“James, you must have been terrified.”

James chewed on the fur below his lip while he considered. “I don’t remember the fear. I remember the thirst. Such terrible thirst as I’d never known before. I remember the pain. Even a sailor’s tan is not proof against days without shade or water. I was blistered so badly by the time Adjoa Kufuor found me that the first thing he called me was Ugly Red Man. I don’t remember being afraid. Truthfully, I was probably too far gone to be afraid.”

“But you survived, James. You came back to yourself and survived.”

“Aye, I did. And that is the end, where I formulated my plans for vengeance. I listened for years to every rumour about the East India. I followed some of those rumours and saw with my own eyes that they continue to deal in slaves and fund Spanish privateers, while they publically proclaim their support for abolition and England. They even bought slaves from me, all unknowing. I paid for information and lay with whores still wet from Company men so I could learn their every secret. I found the chinks in their armour, and carefully, carefully inserted pin after pin. I watched and I listened and I planned, and now I’ve returned to insert the final lynch-pin and watch them hang.”

“The Treaty,” Caroline said softly.

He nodded. They both fell silent as the door opened and two aproned waiters entered. One man reset James’s place in front of him without comment. The other put down hot almond soup. With a bow, and without a word, they withdrew.

James sampled his soup. “Not a patch on Mrs. Singh’s.”

Caroline grinned. “I rarely find food that is. She’s a diamond.”

“That she is. The Treaty is, indeed, the lynch-pin, but it’s only a distraction. It focuses Crown and Company on the west, when they should be looking east. This is and has always been about India, and breaking the Company’s monopoly there.”

Caroline stopped with her spoon half-way to her mouth. “India?”

“Aye. The East India’s power arises from their stranglehold on India. Opium, silk, fur, cotton, tea. They have it all because of India. If they lose India, the Company falls, and that is what I have planned and schemed and dreamed of, for ten years. Not Nootka. Not the China trade. Everything I have done, I’ve done to break their hold on India.”

“But, James, I don’t understand. Do you hope to win the India trade?”

“No. I’ve no interest in India for myself.” He supped his soup, which was rich and warm if not as flavourful as the products of Mrs. Singh’s kitchen.

“You do it only to break the East India?” Caroline asked.

James nodded. “I’ve bided my time until the war cooled and the Crown could be set at the East India’s throat again. They’ve been negotiating over Bombay for years, but only once peace neared have the negotiations been pursued again with fervour. I’ve driven another little pin between them by offering the Crown the sovereignty of Nootka in exchange for a monopoly on sea otter pelts. When the Crown made a grab for that irresistible fruit, Strange recognised their move for what it was: a knife in the back. He withdrew from the Bombay negotiations. Now all that remains is for the East India to irrevocably declare that they refuse to cede any interest in Bombay, and the Crown will crush them. The Prince dare not ignore such a direct challenge to his authority. After two costly wars, the Crown cannot afford for the profits of India to land in coffers other than its own. Besides, I’ve heard the one thing the Prince desires above all is to be crowned Emperor of India, now that they’ve lost the Americas. That will not happen so long as the Company holds the south. He will destroy them to get what he wants, and in so doing, he’ll give me what I want.”

Caroline looked down into her soup for a long moment. “James, you play such a deep and dangerous game.”

“Do you understand now why I’ve told no one?”

“Yes,” Caroline said quietly.

“Now you know everything, my darling. Things Atticus, Cholmondeley, even Brace, cannot even guess at. You’re the only one I trust completely. One word from you could unravel the plans I’ve laid for so long.”

She reached out and took his hand again and squeezed. “James.”

“You know all of my aims. Now you must hear how I intend to reach them.”

“How?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

“Caroline, the things that are to come, must come. The things I do, I must do. There’s only one path before me. One means to get to my ends.”

Her face tightened. _She knows_ , he thought. _She knows what’s to come is fearful. But I can’t let her fear it_.

“I’ll be declared traitor and arrested. It’s inevitable now. And necessary. I need the Crown to see with its own eyes that short of killing me, there’s nothing they can do to force my compliance. And I need a face-to-face meeting with Strange, in private, where I can force him to withdraw permanently from the Bombay negotiations in exchange for my silence.”

“James,” she whispered. “They’ll torture you.”

“Yes, I know. But you must trust me on this, Caroline. There’s nothing they can do to me that hasn’t been done before. Nothing I can’t endure. They dare not kill me, and they cannot break me. By my silence, I will protect you and the other innocents who have been drawn into this. By my silence, I will prove to them they can’t get what they want by force. They must accept my terms, and my terms are nothing less than the fall of the East India.”

She brought their clasped hands to her lips, and he felt the chill there, when her flesh should have been warm. _She_ is _afraid. For me_ , and the thought warmed him more than any soup.

“I don’t mean to question you,” she said. “I know your plans are long-held, but, James, please, isn’t there any other way? Surely there must be some other way than letting them hurt you?”

James put his meal aside and reached for her. She moved immediately into his arms and wrapped hers around his neck.

“Nothing else results in the Company’s fall, sweet. I’ve told you everything so you have no fear. So you understand what’s to come, and that all will proceed according to my plan. But you must not interfere, Caroline. I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want you involved in my business. Don’t try to unravel my plans out of love for me. I’ll not thank you for it,” James said gently, trying to ignore the cold, slick clutch in his gut at the thought that, for love, she might overturn everything he’d so carefully arranged.

“No, I understand, James. I wouldn’t ever betray you,” she whispered into his neck.

“Promise me you’ll do nothing to stop this play from running its course.”

She looked up at him, her eyes luminous now with unshed tears. “I swear I won’t disrupt your plans, so long as you swear to me that the play is a comedy, not a tragedy.”

James recalled enough of his schooling to remember that a comedy ended in a marriage, while a tragedy ended in a funeral. “The only pyre will be the Company’s, that I swear to you.”

“Can I truly do nothing, James? Can’t I ease this for you in some way?”

James stroked her soft cheek. “Yes, you can do that hardest thing. You can be strong, my lioness. You can bear this for me and with me, and if you do, then I’ll know I’m not alone, and whatever pain they inflict on me will be eased. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. “You’ll think of me, and know I’m with you?”

“Every second, darling.” He drew her close again and breathed deeply, taking in her sweet scent. “I’ll hold this breath, never letting out that last bit of air, and as long as I hold you deep in me, they’ll never be able to break me.”

“James, when will all of this come to pass? Will it be soon?”

“Yes, any day now. Winter, the girl . . . I might have killed, her mother is one of the whores who helped steal the saltpetre from the Company warehouse. She’ll go to Crown or Company and betray me. It may already have happened, but if not, it will be soon.”

“And once you’ve done this last thing, endured their worst and had your final meeting with Sir Strange, then we can sail away?”

“Yes, sweet.”

“Oh, James, I hate this. I hate this helplessness. I hate that you have to suffer, even if it gets you what you want. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

“I know, darling, but stay with me. Bear it with me. Hate them—no, I don’t want you to hate them with me. I don’t want you consumed by the same sort of darkness that has consumed me. Just bear it with me, my lioness, my wife-to-be.”

She nodded against his collar. “I will, James. I’ll be with you every second. I’ll do anything I can. You only have to tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

He stroked her back and marvelled at his good fortune. There were others who would do as he asked – Atticus, Cholmondeley, Robert, Lorna, even French Bill, who might yet harbour a little ill will for the cracked rib – but none he trusted completely. None who would put his interests, his driving needs, however dark, ahead of their own. James took another deep breath off her hair and set her back in her own chair.

A single tear had made a wet line down her cheek while he’d held her. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “No more tears, my lioness. You must be brave and strong for me.”

She pressed her lips together but nodded. “You’ll be proud of me, if I am?”

“Surpassingly proud. Even more so than I already am.”

A spark of mischief returned to her eyes. “And if I am, you’ll let me claim the reward of wearing my breeches while we sail?”

James groaned. “Absolutely not. What are you trying to do to me, madam?”

“Just inject a little levity.” She giggled softly, then sobered. “Will you stay with me until the last?”

“Only until I hear the report’s been made and the Crown has sent soldiers after me. Then there is someone I must go see. His name is Michael Godfrey. We were at Woolwich together and he’s been my eyes and ears within the East India’s innermost sanctum. He sails with us, and I’ll need to give him warning and time to get away before I’m arrested. I’ll let myself be taken from his house. I don’t want to be taken from yours.”

She nodded. “That’s sensible. Mr. Singh and Thomas might try to do something silly and heroic if soldiers came to the house for you. They’re very devoted.” She picked up her spoon and began eating again. “Tell me more about our travelling companion Mr. Godfrey. You’ve been friends for a long time.”

“So I thought,” James said. “But it turns out that Godfrey wanted something other than friendship from me. He’s a molly.”

“Oh?” Caroline lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve never met a molly. This will be exciting.”

James stifled a groan at the thought of Caroline befriending Godders. “You can discuss the latest fashions, certainly. Shame we’re not going to Paris; you could have shopped together.”

Caroline finished her soup and sat back in her chair. “I’m not quite sure I understand what a molly is, you know. He dresses in women’s clothes?”

“Aye. And jewellery and paint. He wears a great deal more of it than you.”

“Why? Having worn both, I can tell you than men’s clothes are a great deal more comfortable. Particularly if he wears a corset. How would a gentleman even squeeze into a corset? They’re not designed for a man’s broad chest.”

“You’ll have to ask him, blossom. I didn’t make a close inspection of his undergarments.”

Caroline sipped her wine as she considered this. “And what of his . . . intimate relations? Does he play a man or a woman in them?”

James choked on his soup and set it away from him. “Madam!”

“Well, I’m just trying to understand. You said he wanted something other than friendship from you.”

“Happily, I want nothing but cooperation from him. I have not inquired. Nor will I. Nor will you, for that matter.”

“Mmm.”

They were interrupted by the next course: scallops and snails in _beurre blanc_ sauce, poached lobster and devilled crayfish. James picked at each after finding even the devilled crayfish somewhat bland. _Mrs. Singh has ruined my palate_ , he thought.

“Did you know about his predilections when you were at school together?” Caroline asked once she’d sampled the seafood. She was evidently more fond of scallops and snails than James was, because she ate all of those while she pushed the lobster and crayfish to the edges of her plate. _But then, she’s probably never had to eat snails raw_ , James thought. The memory diminished his appetite.

“No. I merely thought him quiet and gentle. He was a year younger than me and he did things for me . . . blacked my boots and fetched posset when I had a sore head. It’s not unusual for a younger boy to do for an older boy. I thought nothing of it.”

“But now you see it in a different light?”

James nodded. “He’s admitted he had a _tendre_ for me. I should have seen it. He haunted me. Like a shadow. He was always there, sitting on the floor of my room when I was studying, reading, or perhaps pretending to read. Using his sharp elbows to win a seat next to me at table. His attentions were convenient. Whenever I wanted him to do something, I needed only look to my left, and there he was. I didn’t mind. Now I realise he was fawning on me, the way a girl does her first crush.”

“Oh, James, that’s a little cruel. He was obviously in love with you. I can’t fault him for that; it shows excellent taste. Is he still?”

“What sort of question is that?” James asked. He picked up a crayfish and beheaded it emphatically.

“I’m sure that crayfish means you no harm,” Caroline observed mildly. “And the question’s a reasonable one. I’ve no desire to hurt his feelings. If he’s still in love with you then I’ll be more restrained around you when we’re in his company.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” James growled. “I told you before that I’d brook no concealment of your feelings. Your affections for your future husband are natural and you’ll display them when we are together, or you’ll face my belt, madam.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Your roar is very fearsome, Sir Lion.”

“I can see I’ve gone about this courtship all wrong,” James grumbled. “I’ve cossetted you and gentled my husbandly authority when I should have disciplined your waywardness and demanded your strict obedience. I will amend my ways immediately, madam, and require you follow suit.”

Caroline gave a delicate snort. “Rawr, rawr, rawr.”

James tilted his head and squinted at her. “Did you just _mock_ me, Caroline?”

“I believe I did.” She wrinkled her chin as she considered. “I believe I also flouted your ‘husbandly authority.’ But you already know that I’m an insubordinate knave and yet you asked me to marry you anyway, so I have to accept that all the roaring and baring of teeth is a disguise for your true nature, which is one of utter indulgence when it comes to people you’re fond of. Admit it, James, you still like him very much.”

“I admit nothing, and I warn you, insubordinate knave, that even though we’re in public, I have no qualms about putting you over my knee.”

“Yes, please,” she quipped. The colour in her cheeks rose and her eyes brightened. “I note there’s a convenient couch over by the fire if these chairs are too confining.”

“Ah, you saw that, too? Imagine what these walls and that couch have seen. But you will not induce me to take you here, where the waiter may walk in on us at any second and the walls likely have eyes. Behave yourself, madam.”

“You started it,” Caroline retorted. “You know I find your combination of mastery and vulnerability unbearably arousing. While I appreciate your consideration for the welfare of my staff, you could not have picked a more inconvenient location to bare your soul to me. I will spend the rest of the night in a state of agitation, desperate to give you the succour you so often demand.”

“I will demand it later, never fear,” James said, feeling everything within him quicken. He took in the flush that had spread down her throat, and the pulse drumming beneath it. “You are in a state of agitation, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” she grumbled. She shifted on her chair, pressing her thighs together. “How can you do this to me?”

 _Rather easily, it appears_ , James thought. _Baring my soul to you was all but painless, and I suspect that’s because our souls are becoming one, my sweet mate_. “What has aroused you so? My honesty? My admission of my dark deeds?”

“Everything, James, oh—” She broke off when the door opened and the waiters appeared to remove the fish course and serve the _blanquette de veau_. James found it more to his taste than the fish, but still not up to Mrs. Singh’s veal in saffron sauce.

Once he’d eaten most of his meat, he poured himself another glass of wine and sat back to savour it. “You were saying?”

“I don’t recall,” she muttered, but her continuing flush and fidgeting on the chair said otherwise.

“You were explaining what I’d done that made you wet and wanting?” he prompted.

“You’re a villain, James, you truly are.”

“Undoubtedly. Just for the sake of argument, I think I should check under your skirts and determine your state of agitation for myself.”

“Touch my skirts and I’ll scream this place down,” Caroline said, setting her silverware on her plate with a forceful little _clink_.

James chuckled. “You could lift them for me and spare yourself the mortification.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Then tell me what aroused you, sweet, and I promise not to manhandle your skirts until we’re in your bedroom.”

“You know exactly what you do to me, James.”

“I do,” he admitted. “But I want to hear it.”

“Fine.” She wadded up the linen napkin in her lap and threw it onto the table next to her plate. “You’ve let me see everything, your plans, your past horrors, things no one knows but me. You take me fully into your confidence in a way that proves you consider me no weak woman but your mate, truly your companion and partner. How can you think that does anything but make my entire being rage with excitement and wanting?”

James grunted to cover a chuckle at her warring emotions. He took her hand and brought it to his lips and said against her skin, “You make my entire being rage with excitement and wanting just by looking at me, so I’d say that we are even, madam.”

She waited until he finished bussing her hand, then pinched his cheek. “You’re not as affected by me as I am by you, James.”

“Not true. I’m just more experienced in dealing with the effects of unsatisfied desire. And in hiding my emotions. Both skills I had to learn in Africa to stay alive. Why would you think me unaffected? I told you from the first that you move me. Your innocent adoration is the most powerful aphrodisiac I’ve ever experienced. You’ve seen for yourself my inability to keep my hands off you, despite a John Thomas so chapped I’m becoming concerned about it falling off.”

She laughed. “Do I really affect you so, James?”

“You do, indeed, madam. And when we are back in the privacy of your bedroom, a place I’ve become more fond of than any other spot on Earth, I will show you, at great length.” He sighed and then told her what she would not want to hear, but what he felt he had to prepare her for. “Caroline, when I’m arrested, they will hold me for at least a day while they try to break me. We may be parted for a night. Two at most. On the heels of our last separation, I require your promise that you’ll do yourself no harm that night. You’ll seek distraction and consolation from your friend Ginny, or Miss Bow, if you prefer. You’ll have a glass or two of brandy and sleep. I need you clear-eyed when we sail, not riven by grief. You are the only one who knows the entirety of my plans. I don’t know what I’ll have to ask of you, but it could be more than I’ve ever asked of you before. Promise me, Caroline.”

Caroline bowed her head. “You know I try very hard not to break my promises to you.”

“I do know that, sweet. That’s why I’ve asked for your promise.”

“I promise to do myself no harm. I promise not to give in to grief or despair. I promise to have a glass or two of brandy and try to sleep,” she said, and James could tell she was choosing her words very carefully.

“You haven’t promised to seek distraction and consolation from your friend or Miss Bow, I notice.”

“I’ve said my farewells to Ginny. She’s never had any suspicion about my loyalties and I don’t want to draw her into something that might hurt our friendship or her reputation. As for Miss Bow, I’m happy to offer her the sanctuary of my house, but I have no intention of confiding in someone who’s set her cap for you, James.”

James chuckled. “My sweet, she wastes her time. My half-sister I may have loved in a way that was more than brotherly, but my step-mother? A woman with whom my own father was intimate? No, Caroline, even my twisted desires do not stretch that far.”

“I’ve always found your desires most wholesome—”

She broke off at the entrance of the waiter, who removed the remains of the main course and set down tiny dishes of ices, and a confection of whipped cream and autumn berries.

“Would you care for cheese and port, sir?” the waiter asked.

James shook his head and the man withdrew.

“Forgive me, my blossom, I should have asked if you cared for cheese,” James said, realising his discourtesy. “Would you like me to call him back?”

“No, no.” Caroline waved it away. “Please don’t concern yourself. I’m full. Too full for berry fool, even.” She took a few bites of her ice, using a tiny fork provided with the dish, before setting it aside and sitting back to sip her wine.

James sampled each of the little mounds in his dish, delicately flavoured with lemon, vanilla, and strawberry, which cleared his palate pleasantly, before relaxing with his own wine.

After a few minutes of companionable silence while they digested, Caroline said, “James, may I ask some questions?”

“Mmm-hmm. As long as you don’t intend to use what you learn to undo me.”

“May I move a little closer to you?” she asked.

“Of course, sweet.” It was James who moved his chair, so they sat side-by-side, shoulders and thighs pressed lightly against one another. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to repair to the settee?”

She shook her head. “Too tempting. I just wanted to touch you. I feel a little bereft when I’m not touching you.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do you actually intend to go to Nootka, or is everything to do with that, the Treaty, the monopoly on tea, is it all just a ruse?”

“I do intend to go to Nootka, and to China, if I’m able to wring that concession out of your countrymen, but I could have just taken the Treaty and bought passage on a ship to France. My reason for staying, for buying the _Gyata_ , for making the gunpowder here instead of in the Americas, was purely to dangle the Treaty before both Crown and Company, and set them again at each other’s throats.”

“It has certainly done that. Their ‘common cause’ lasted all of what, two days?”

James chuckled. “Something like that.”

“James, Stuart Strange . . .” she trailed off uncertainly.

“Mmm?” he prompted.

“What makes you think he will keep to his word after you sail? He’s known to be a snake. What’s to prevent him from re-commencing the Bombay negotiations once you’re gone?”

“Two things. The first is that the condition for my silence is that he state the Company’s intentions publicly, so he cannot renege. And so the Prince cannot ignore the challenge. The second is that he’ll be too busy having his neck stretched to re-commence any negotiations.”

She stirred against his side. “I don’t understand. I thought his compliance bought your silence? Why would he hang?”

“His compliance does not buy the silence of my friend Mr. Godfrey, who for twelve years has heard everything said in the Company’s innermost sanctum. It’s not my word that will ruin Strange. It’s his.”

“Oh. I see.” Caroline tapped her fingernails against her wine glass thoughtfully. “Presumably they do not know that he’s a molly, or he wouldn’t still be in the Company’s employ. Nor do they know that his love and loyalty lie with you.”

“No on both counts, although I wish you’d not use the word ‘love’ to describe his feelings for me, Caroline,” he grumbled. “Now I have a question for you. I know your intention to sail to Calais pre-dated our meeting. How did you intend to avoid problems in the Channel? Do you already hold a letter of safe passage and the flag codes to get you past the American blockade?”

She shook her head. “The blockade is to the west. I’ve been reassured the passage to Calais is clear of all but French privateers, which the _Felice’s_ guns will deter. But now that we sail to the Azores, we will have to risk the blockade.”

 _No, we won’t_ , James thought. _I will have safe passage before we sail. But I’ll not involve you in it. Finally, here is something Miss Bow can do to earn her place_.

*

As they left, James paused at the doorway of the main dining room. Spotting his prey, who Godders had informed him ate at the Clarendon every Tuesday evening, he waved one of their waiters over.

“A bottle of champagne for Mr. Pettifer’s table.” James fished several coins out of his pocket, enough for a superior bottle of fizz, and dropped them into the waiter’s white glove. “With compliments from James Delaney and his fiancée, Mrs. Caroline Grant.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter bowed and scuttled off.

James offered Caroline his arm. She wrapped her gloved hand around his elbow and let him escort her out to her phaeton.

“It may seem as though I’ve just exposed you,” he said as he helped her up into the carriage and climbed into the seat beside her.

She slid her hands around his arm and held him lightly, comfort without weight. “I’m sure you did it a-purpose,” she replied, sounding unconcerned.

“Aye. Pettifer’s East India. I’ve just made it clear to them you’re under my protection, in case they miss the announcement in the morning papers. They’ll scramble to find out who you are, if they don’t know already, and in doing so, they’ll discover the transfers we’ve made today. I’ve exposed you, darling, but I’ve also protected you as much as I’m able.”

She squeezed his arm gently. “Thank you, James.” She nuzzled her face into the collar of his greatcoat and took a deep sniff. “My brave, wild man. You said you’ve told me everything so I wouldn’t be afraid. I find I’m not. I feel quite resolute. We need only endure, you and I, for a very little time, and then we will be free to sail on our bonny ship to the wide shores I’ve dreamed about since meeting you. I’m excited, James. But I’m not afraid.”

James smiled at her, snapped the reigns and turned the pair towards Wapping Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve tried to stick with James’s backstory, as related during Episode One, throughout _Beguiled._ But in this chapter I had to make a departure, because I just couldn’t reconcile the show and (military) history. 
> 
> There are references throughout the show to the East India’s “seminary,” but in fact the East India Company Military Seminary at Addiscombe didn’t open until 1809, five years after James leaves for Africa. Strange refers to James as a “cadet” at the academy and later as “Corporal James Keziah Delaney.” This is nonsensical.
> 
> First, if James was trained as an officer, he would have attended the Warren in Woolwich, an academy that trained “gentlemen cadets” who went into both the East India’s army and the Royal Artillery after gaining their commissions (which were bought at considerable expense). This wasn’t a “Company seminary” _per se_ , but it was a military academy. 
> 
> Second, military academies trained officers, not enlisted men. Strange gives James’s rank as “corporal,” but a corporal was (and is) an enlisted man, not a commissioned officer. Officer candidates at Woolwich would have been cadets, and when they graduated and received their commission, they would have held the rank of lieutenant, not corporal. 
> 
> Third, and this is where I really just couldn’t figure out what the show was doing, “corporal” is a (non-commissioned) rank in the _army_. Since it’s clear that James is a trained sailor, and served on a Company ship, why would he have been in the Company’s army? The East India had a navy (known at the time as the Bombay Marines), and it makes more sense to me that James would have been an officer in the Bombay Marines than the East India’s (land-based) army. Lieutenant was an officer rank in the Bombay Marines, so to stick as close to the show as possible, I’ve had James train at the Woolwich academy but given his rank as lieutenant, not corporal. Sorry, I just couldn’t reconcile it!


	27. Chapter 27

James let them into his father’s house through the front door, quietly, and without announcing himself. The house was still and dark, even though it was still two hours to midnight. James assumed Miss Bow had a performance and Brace and the boy were abed. He built up the fire in the drawing room and left Caroline to warm herself by it with a glass of brandy, while he moved silently through the house.

His last stop was the attic room, where he found Robert in bed but not asleep, reading by candlelight.

James leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching the boy. Robert’s eyes flicked to him when he opened the door, but the boy didn’t move or speak. He was buried under several moth-eaten blankets, with only his face peeping out. The fire in the hearth was no more than a flicker.

James crossed the room and stacked several logs in the grate. “We’re short of neither wood nor coal,” he said to the boy. “There’s no need for you to be cold.”

“Mr. Brace told me to leave it be.”

James grunted. “I’ll speak to him. How do you like the book?”

“Very well, sir. It’s much more exciting than _The Pilgrim’s Progress_.”

James gave another grunt, this one of approval. “That it is. Read a bit to me.”

The boy read,

“Oh tell me, Mentor! Tell me, faithful guide  
(The youth with prudent modesty replied),  
How shall I meet, or how accost the sage,  
Unskill’d in speech, nor yet mature of age?  
Awful th’approach, and hard the task appears,  
To question wisely men of riper years.”

James chuckled. “It is a hard task. Telemachus is equal to it, though. He’s a smart lad, a good example for you.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, which protested with a creak. “This bed was ancient when I was your age. What did you do today?”

“Helped Mr. Brace, sir. He had me scrub the pots, sweep the floors and muck out your stable. I ha’en’t seen your horse, though.”

“He’s at Mrs. Grant’s. Was it hard work?”

“No, sir.”

James nodded. He hadn’t thought it would be, compared to what the boy was used to.

“Mrs. Grant is downstairs. Would you like to say good-night?”

The boy nodded, put the book aside and began to climb out of the covers. He was barefoot, just wearing his linen and trousers.

“Wrap the blankets around you. The hall is cold,” James said.

He escorted the boy out of the room. As they walked side-by-side down the stairs, he said, “Mrs. Grant and I went to a solicitor today and made wills. Do you know what a will is?”

“Yes, sir,” Robert answered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

James wondered again, _wise child or scared child_? _He has reason to fear me. He saw what I did to the Americans’ assassin. But he’s also seen me be tender with Caroline. Does the latter balance out the former?_

“In my will, I named you my heir, with Mrs. Grant to be your guardian should anything happen to me. In Mrs. Grant’s will, she named you her heir, with her brother in Philadelphia to be your guardian if anything happens to her. No matter what occurs, you will be taken care of. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir. Does this mean I’m to go to Philadelphia?”

“We all are. You, me and Mrs. Grant. In Philadelphia, Mrs. Grant and I will be married. We’ll buy a house and you will always have a home there.” James put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It felt thin and frail even through the blankets. _He’s still young_ , James reminded himself. _Still small; he’s not yet hit his growth. But he’ll grow. He’s a farm boy, sturdy and strong, and he’ll grow into his man’s strength as he grows into the Delaney name_.

“Sir, when you marry Mrs. Grant, will she be my mother?”

“She will. D’you remember your mother? Your real mother?”

The boy shook his head. “Mr. Ibbotson told me I had no mother. That I was a changeling, come from under a fairy mound. That’s not true, is it, sir?”

 _Superstitious old twat_ , James thought. _Making Christian confession out of one side of his mouth and spouting fairy stories out of the othe_ r. “No. You had a mother, flesh and bone, just as all men do. I’m sorry I don’t know who she was. But Mrs. Grant will be mother to you now.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy seemed pleased by the idea and moved down the last set of stairs at a brisk clip. A step ahead of James, he pattered into the drawing room. He stopped in front of the couch where Caroline was sitting and gave her a deep bow. “Good evening, Mrs. Grant.”

“Good evening, Robert,” Caroline replied with a warm smile. “How do you do this evening?”

“Very well, ma’am.”

Caroline patted the couch beside her and Robert climbed onto it, pulling the blankets tight around himself. Caroline reached over and tucked the blankets around his bare feet. Feeling the chill of the house on the boy’s skin as if it was his own, James moved to the fire and threw on several more logs. Then he went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down in one of the wing-chairs, after brushing off some suspicious speckles.

“I told Robert of our trip to the solicitor today,” James said to Caroline.

“Did you?” She gave him one of her sunny smiles. “Did you tell Robert that my solicitor has such a full, silky set of whiskers that you called him a sea otter and considered shaving him for a hat?”

James chuckled. “No.”

“You see, Robert,” Caroline said to the boy conspiratorially. “Mr. Delaney can be very silly. Have you ever seen a sea otter?”

The boy’s eyes, still wide, flicked from James to Caroline. He shook his head. “Never an otter, ma’am. I’ve seen seals, though, when we came down the river to market.”

“A sea otter looks like a very small seal, but thinner and furrier. And to be fair to Mr. Delaney, my solicitor does look a bit like one. And his whiskers would make a very fine hat.”

The boy gave Caroline a hesitant smile. “A fur hat like Mr. Delaney’s and Mr. Cholmondeley’s?”

“Yes. Would you like such a hat when you’re a bit older?” Caroline asked. The boy nodded. “Then we shall buy you one. Perhaps when we reach Philadelphia. Did Mr. Delaney tell you we’re going to Philadelphia?”

“Yes, ma’am. And you’re to be married there and then you’ll be my mother.”

Caroline beamed at the boy. “Yes, I will. Would you like that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While James listened and sipped his brandy, Caroline told Robert stories about her childhood in Philadelphia until the boy fell asleep, leaning against Caroline’s shoulder, bundled in his blankets. She’d given him a few sips of her brandy to help warm him, which probably contributed to his somnolence. James finished his own brandy before he gathered the boy up in his arms and carried him back up to the attic room.

Robert woke briefly when James lowered him into the creaking old bed. He pulled the blankets up around his shoulders with his thin hand. “Good night, sir.”

James tucked the boy in and ruffled his hair. “Good night, Robert. Sleep well.”

“Please, sir, I didn’t say good night to Mrs. Grant.”

“I’ll tell her,” James reassured the boy.

“Thank you, sir.” Apparently satisfied, the boy closed his eyes.

James pinched out all but the night candle and left the boy to sleep.

Downstairs, he took the boy’s place on the couch beside Caroline after pouring them each another brandy. The seat was warm, the fire high, and James was sweating a little from carrying the boy up three flights of stairs. He took off his coat and weskit and draped them over the back of the couch before putting his arm around Caroline, noting that she’d removed her pelisse and bonnet.

She snuggled against him and tipped her head back on his shoulder so she could look up at him. “I love you, husband-to-be.”

James grinned at her. “And I you, dove. Where did that come from?”

Caroline shrugged. “You gave me a glimpse tonight of what it will be like when we’re a family. I never thought to have a family, James. It’s very agreeable.”

“I’m glad you think so. You don’t find him wearisome?”

“Robert? No. He’s a lovely boy. Do you find him wearisome?”

James considered. “Not wearisome. He’s scared of me. He has reason to be, and at one point it was useful. But now I don’t like seeing it. I’m not sure what to say to reassure him.”

“I don’t think you have to say anything. Just give him your company, as you’ve given me your company. Once he sees your true character, he’ll stop being afraid of you. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Everything is,” James agreed. “Even visits from King’s Commissioners. Where is the man? The note I sent him said I’d be available from ten o’clock tonight. It’s nearly eleven.”

Caroline gave a soft laugh. “Oh, dear, a man who doesn’t dance to your tune. Maybe he had a prior engagement, James.”

“He should have broken it,” James grumbled, then set aside his annoyance for the pleasure of sitting by a warm fire with his fiancée tucked against his side. “You made Philadelphia sound like paradise, madam.”

“Did I overstate its virtues? I hope not. It was a very good place to grow up. Much more wild than London, of course. Much less smoke and fog. Many more untamed places to explore.”

“Mmm. I won’t know if you’ve overstated it until I see it, but even if it’s half of what you describe, it will be very close to heaven for a boy like Robert. He’ll dream tonight of catching crayfish under the willows in Mr. Rollins’s brook. He’ll race his dream-horse across the fields to the Blasted Oak and circle it thrice for luck before racing back. He’ll build his first raft out of clouds and float down the crystal clear waters of the Delaware. You’ve given him some very pleasant dreams, and a great deal to anticipate.”

“I hope he won’t be disappointed with the reality of it.”

“I doubt it. It will be a very different life from what he’s known on the farm, but I think he’ll find much to please him. And if that was your childhood in Philadelphia, it was a great deal more pleasant than I’d thought.”

“It was pleasant, James. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea. For every day ruined by Reverend Brown, or my mother’s illness, there were a hundred catching crayfish and riding my horse and building rafts. I hated my father for sending me to England not just because it was such a strange, cold place, but because I loved my home in Philadelphia.”

“But you never thought to return?”

Caroline shrugged. “I’m not a child anymore. I can’t go back. I don’t know what I’ll find in Philadelphia as a grown woman, but it won’t be fishing in the creek or racing my horse or building rafts. It won’t even be pigeon shooting with Josh or having Daniel escort me to a barn dance. That’s all gone. I have to build something new. Until tonight, I had no notion of what it would be. Now I see it could be a family. Thank you, James. Thank you for showing me. I’m so very grateful.”

James grunted with satisfaction and angled his face so he could kiss her.

Before he could claim her mouth, they were interrupted by a pounding on the door.

“Finally,” James grumbled. He took the moment to press a soft kiss across Caroline’s lips, then rose. “Remember your promise to me, madam. You will not converse with him, and if he seeks to involve you, you will absent yourself. Go up to the attic where Robert is sleeping and wait for me. There’s a fire there.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes, James.”

With another grunt, this time of approval, James went to answer the door.

*

James had never met a King’s Commissioner, and had few expectations as to what a King’s Commissioner might be, but he’d not expected the well-tailored, bespectacled, black man who stood at his door.

“I received a message that you wished to speak with me,” the man said. “After you have eluded me for so long.”

James nodded and held the door open to allow the man entry. He did not move aside and Mr. Chichester had to brush past him. James took a deep breath, drawing in the man’s scent: ink and parchment, boot oil, wool, coal smoke, and, faintly, sweat. None of the African odours that haunted James, despite the colour of the man’s skin.

He closed the door behind the King’s Commissioner and gestured him into the drawing room.

Mr. Chichester drew up short at the sight of Caroline, sitting on the couch. He bowed to her. “George Chichester, ma’am.”

Caroline inclined her head. “Good evening, sir. You’ll forgive me if I don’t introduce myself or hold any conversation with you. I’m observing Mr. Delaney’s strictures.”

The man looked over his shoulder at James, and then back at the woman sitting composedly on the couch. “I see,” he said, although James doubted that he did. “You may not wish to have an audience for this interview, sir.”

“I have no secrets from my fiancée,” James told him. “You may speak freely in front of her, but she is in no way involved in this business.”

“Very well.” Mr. Chichester proceeded into the drawing room. “May I sit?”

James grunted in assent. “I need to know why you’re seeking me.”

Chichester sat in a wing chair across from Caroline, brushing back the tails of his traditional coat. He took a leather folio from under his arm and held it between his knees. “First, I must tell you that I already know many things about you.”

“And I need to know that you’re not a spirit like the others,” James said, still unsettled by the colour of the man’s skin.

“No, I’m a rationalist,” Chichester replied.

James moved to the sideboard, poured himself another glass of brandy, and considered how much to say in front of his fiancée. He wanted to shock and unsettle the man, as much as the man had unsettled him. That would involve being indelicate in front of Caroline. _She already knows I have no delicacy, and that this is all in furtherance of my plan. I’ll apologise to her afterwards_.

“I’m carrying out an investigation as part of a Royal Commission.”

James nodded. He knew this already. “I heard that you don’t drink, that you don’t fuck whores, that you’re squeezing Sir Stuart Strange on behalf of the King.”

Chichester glanced at Caroline, who met his eyes without flinching at James’s crude language. _My lioness_ , James thought. _My brave, brave girl_.

“On behalf of justice,” Chichester said.

“Oh, justice.” James sat down heavily beside Caroline, and when she offered him her hand, took it and held it against his thigh as he drank deep from his glass. He propped his boot on the ottoman between them, to drive home the point that this was his domain, and Chichester the interloper. “You believe in justice?”

“I do,” Chichester affirmed.

James controlled a scoff. “Yet you’re a rationalist. What kind of rational man believes in justice?”

Chichester gave him an arch look, his dark eyes flicking from James’s hand, twined with Caroline’s, to the glass James held, to James’s boot. “I’m investigating the sinking of a sloop, called the _Cornwallis_ , renamed the _Influence_ , off the coast of Cabinda in July 1804.” Chichester turned slightly and put the folio down on a side table. “Mr. Delaney, I have strong reason to believe that you were aboard the ship the night it sank.” He removed his gloves and withdrew a long ship’s nail from his breast pocket.

All of James’s attention riveted on the nail. He felt it in his hand, the metal cold and rough against his skin. He felt the rain beating down on the back of his neck. Heard the cries rising over the screaming wind. Everything else receded as memory dragged him back to that ship on that night, when all of his dreams died along with an innocence he hadn’t even known he had.

“An example of the kind of nail you used to nail down the hold of the East India Company ship, the _Cornwallis_ , when she ran aground in July 1804.”

James grunted and took a long sip of brandy. “Aye-aye, Captain, I said.”

“I’m aware you were following orders,” Chichester acknowledged.

“No, I happen to like driving in nails. It takes your mind off the rain, and off of the sinking ship.”

James felt Caroline squeeze his fingers. He didn’t know if she was trying to comfort or caution him. He tore his eyes away from the nail and returned her gentle squeeze.

“Mr. Delaney, perhaps I should come back during the day—”

“Oh, no, no, there’s no use,” James said quickly, not wanting to prolong his interaction with this man. “I am always like this. Please carry on.”

“You travelled to the Volta as a slave, and then began to deal in slaves. You stole diamonds from a fellow slaver, and then returned to London.”

 _Is that all you think I’ve done?_ James wondered. _You have no idea, you soft old scribbler._ “I have done much worse things than stealing diamonds.”

Chichester lowered his eyes. “Yes, I know this, too.”

“A-ah-ah,” James scoffed. “What do you want?”

“As far as I can ascertain, you are the only surviving member of the crew of the _Cornwallis_. I want you to write an account naming Sir Stuart Strange as the man who organised the loading of the _Cornwallis_ with slaves, bound for a sugar planation in Jumby Bay, Antigua, owned by his own brother. In return, the Royal Commission will offer you a full pardon for your crime.” Chichester swallowed against James’s steady glare. “For crime, it is.”

James watched him for a long moment, until Chichester looked away.

“I have an alternative suggestion,” James said.

Chichester listened attentively as James explained Godfrey’s position, what he’d heard under a raised hand, and his new loyalties. When James finished, Chichester rose and held out his hand.

“I look forward to meeting this gentleman,” Chichester said. James rose and shook his hand. “And I hope in the future to have the opportunity to make your acquaintance, madam.” He bowed to Caroline.

Caroline inclined her head, but said nothing. James favoured her with a smile before escorting the King’s Commissioner to the door.

When he returned to the drawing room, Caroline held out his brandy glass. He took it, transferred it to his other hand and took her hand. He kissed her knuckles, then sat beside her and pressed their joined hands over his heart. Caroline curled into him and laid her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence while the fire crackled, the mantle clock ticked and James finished his brandy.

He set the glass on the floor and said quietly, “You must have questions.”

She shook her head. “If there’s anything you wish to tell me, in your own time, I’m happy to listen.”

James grunted in approval. “You understand the things I said, I said to unnerve him.”

“Yes, I perceived that. And that you wanted to convince him of your madness, for you’re neither as drunk nor as distracted as you pretended.” She stroked him with her fingertips, bunching his loose shirt over his breast. “You’re a fine actor, James.”

“Mmm. Perhaps I’ll join Miss Bow treading the boards.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed each of her fingertips. “I’ve never played a part with you, Caroline.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Of course not, James. I wouldn’t think it of you.”

“Do you think less of me for playing a part to him?”

“No, although I do think his heart’s in the right place. You might consider assisting him.”

James opened her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “He believes in justice, Caroline. You know there’s no such thing. Not on this Earth.” He curled her hand over his mouth and nose, nuzzled his way down to her wrist and took a breath off her skin, drawing the scent of orange blossoms deep into his lungs. “There’s vengeance and the retribution a man can wreak with his own hands, but there’s no justice.”

Caroline shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if he seeks justice, and you can give something like while achieving your vengeance, is there any harm in that?”

“No. I suppose not. Let him have his illusions.” He nipped at the baby-soft skin of her wrist. “Come to me. Lift your skirts.”

She did, the way she always did. Giving and giving and giving. She gathered up her midnight blue skirts and straddled him. When she reached between them to unbuckle his belt, he caught her hand and drew it around his neck. “Love me, Caroline,” he murmured in her ear.

“I do, James.” She stroked his cheek, then unwound his necktie and opened his shirt so she could kiss his throat. “I do. What do you want from me, my dear man? How can I ease you?”

“Tell me nothing you’ve seen or heard tonight’s made you love me less.”

“Oh, James.” She sat back on his thighs and took his face in both hands. “Nothing could ever make me love you less. Please, don’t entertain such a notion.” She leaned in and kissed him deeply.

James closed his arms around her and held her tight. “You listen and nod, but ask no questions. I can’t tell what you are thinking, Caroline. I thought we were beginning to speak to each other without words, but your heart is opaque to me tonight.”

“No, it’s not.” She lifted herself in his arms and pressed his ear to her bosom. “What do you hear, James?”

He listened, as he’d often bade her listen, and heard the strong, steady beat of his lioness’s heart.

“Are you so sure of me?” he asked, turning his face a little so he could press a kiss to the soft swell of her breast. “Do you trust me so much that my darkest secrets and wickedest plans give you no qualm?”

“The only part of your plans that gives me pause is you giving yourself into the hands of men who will hurt you.” She settled back against him, nuzzling his throat. “I hate that part. I hate it, and I wish there was something, anything, I could do to alter it. But you’ve told me it’s necessary. I believe you, as I believe everything you’ve ever told me. I believe you and I trust you, without qualm or question. And if those things aren’t speaking to each other without words, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, sweet.” He gave her a squeeze. “I was afraid that, perhaps, we’d finally found that thing about me you would judge. Have you known all along about my sins? Have you known and never condemned me the way the King’s Commissioner does?”

“I’ve heard the rumours. And I’ve read Doctor Dumbarton’s reports. I’ve also lived in wilder places than London, among men who do not have the luxury of adopting the veneer of civilization that is so fashionable here.” She kissed along his jaw and rested her fingertips against his jugular, each of them feeling the other’s heartbeat. “So, no, I’ve never judged what you had to do to stay alive in so distant and alien a place. Nor will I ever. The King’s Commissioner says he seeks justice for those poor souls who drowned, but he overlooks the great injustice sitting right in front of him. Is the wrong done to you any less because your skin is white instead of black? Or because you survived where they died?” She ran her hand down to press over his heart. “He acknowledges you were just following orders, but calls what you did a crime. Can he not hear his own hypocrisy? I’ve said before that you’re no murderer. Only a soldier fighting a secret war. Nothing I’ve heard or seen has changed my view. You are an honourable man, James. Your trials have left you fiercely honourable, and if I ever were to make any judgment, it would be that your honour is worth a thousand times another man’s supposed goodness.”

James shook his head in astonishment. “I was right that I didn’t perceive your thoughts clearly tonight, but wholly wrong about what lay behind the veil. You still find me honourable, after all you’ve heard tonight?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

James kissed her. “I’d never be such a fool as to question my great good fortune in finding a mate who understands me so well.”

She reached up to stroke his brow, and James knew she was trying to soothe the frown that his interview with Chichester – and the man’s condemnation – had left behind. She looked at him seriously. “The final battle’s still before you, James. I’ll help you in any way I can as you prepare for the fight. I’ll do nothing to hinder you. Whatever you need from me, just tell me and you will have it, my brave man.”

“Only this, sweet. Your love and trust. They mean more to me now than anything else. Even the vengeance I’ve planned for so long. If you ask me, I’ll give it up and we can sail away tomorrow, you, me and Robert.”

James held his breath after he said the words. He meant them. With all his heart, he meant them. But with all his heart, he hoped she wouldn’t ask.

“Thank you, James.” She stroked her fingers down the side of his face. “But I think it would eat at you. I think you’d find no rest in the New World. No happiness. When we sail, I want it to be the culmination of all your clever plans, not the miscarriage of them.”

“You truly do understand me, Caroline.” He gathered her to him again and held her close.

They sat like that for long minutes, enjoying the simple pleasures of each other’s closeness, the quiet house, the warm fire. When the mantle clock chimed midnight, James finally stirred and gently lifted Caroline off him.

“Home, darling. Back to your soft bed. What I require most to prepare for my final battle is your sweet affection, and I don’t want it here, in this house full of ghosts.”

“It is a little dismal,” Caroline agreed, brushing down her skirts. “James, might we take Robert with us? I’d feel easier if he was under my roof.”

James considered it for a moment. “I understand, sweet. That’s good of you, but let’s leave him where he is for tonight. He’s asleep; he’ll come to no harm in my bed. We’ll return in the morning. I have business here tomorrow.”

Caroline nodded, although a little sadly, James thought, and he smiled at her affection for the boy. They drew on their outer clothes, with James buttoning Caroline’s pelisse and Caroline winding his neckcloth back around his throat. James banked the fire and then escorted Caroline out to her phaeton, locking the front door behind him. It hadn’t been locked when they’d arrived, and James spared a thought to wonder if Miss Bow had a key. _If she doesn’t, she can make enough noise to wake Brace_ , he decided. _It will serve them both right_.

James handed Caroline up into the carriage, tossed up the reins and climbed up beside her. As he took up the reins and turned the pair towards Marylebone, he found himself surprisingly clear-headed and alert, given the hour, the amount of brandy he’d consumed, and the shocks and revelations of the night.

 _Perhaps Caroline has the right of it. Perhaps I am preparing for the final battle now_ , he thought. _No visions, no uncertainties, just those things I must do in order to finish my business_. He could see the final steps clearly in his mind. He would leave directions for the various players tomorrow: Atticus, Brace, Cholmondeley and Miss Bow, to move his pieces into their final positions. He would meet with his sister and sever the last tie between them. He’d facilitate a meeting between Chichester and Godfrey and tie the final knot in Strange’s noose. Then he’d give himself over to the King’s men and let them do their worst. The steps were laid out before him like a stair, and at the top of the stair sat the _Fair Felice_ , her sails billowing in the trade winds.

James grunted and Caroline leaned into him, clasping his arm lightly. “What it is?” she asked.

“I can see the end clearly now, sweet. More clearly than I ever have before. And do you know what lies there, beyond the last step?”

She shook her head, her bonnet brim brushing the collar of his coat. “What, James?”

“Our fair ship, ready to bear us into the future.”

She made a happy little humming noise and rested her head on his shoulder.


	28. Chapter 28

The midnight streets were quiet and they reached her Harley Street townhouse before one. James helped Caroline down from the carriage and took the pair’s reins, expecting to have to guide them around the back and unsaddle them himself, since they were later than he’d anticipated. Before he could take a step, the front door opened and Thomas descended, yawning.

James handed Thomas the reins and patted the lad’s shoulder. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Not until Mrs. Grant’s home, sir.”

James gave him another pat and followed Caroline up the front steps, where Mr. Singh was waiting, despite the hour, to take their outerwear.

“I’m sorry we’re so late,” James said to the Sikh. “All can go to bed now. I’ll see to Mrs. Grant.”

“Very good, sir,” Mr. Singh responded, stifling a yawn. “I’ve left the champagne in Mrs. Grant’s bedroom.”

“Good man. Thank you.”

Mr. Singh bowed and took his leave.

James offered his elbow to Caroline and escorted her up to her bedroom.

“Champagne, James?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“Mmm, that’s very extravagant,” she teased.

“It is, but we’ll shortly enter a world of privation, where there’s nothing but stale water and grog with which to toast our upcoming nuptials, so we must celebrate while we can.”

She squeezed his arm. “Your ship must have been very poorly provisioned to have nothing but stale water and grog. I’ll have you know we drink wine with dinner aboard the _Fair Felice_ , and there are ample supplies of ale and cider.”

“Ah, I should have known that you’d travel in style, madam.”

“It’s true there’s not much champagne in Philadelphia, though. At least, I’d never had it until I came to England. Not even at cotillions.”

“I cannot count that as a loss, since I’m not partial to it, but I’ll drink it with you tonight to celebrate our engagement. What do Colonials drink?”

Caroline elbowed him. “If you’re going to live in the Free Fifteen, sir, you’ll need to learn not to call them the Colonies. That will get you hung. And rum punch in the main, at dances and assemblies. At home, my father and brothers drank ale in the day, Madeira at night.” She tapped her fingers against her lips and James could tell she was considering something. “That is a matter, James. Perhaps we should take on Madeira in Ponta Delgada instead of timber. There’s a ready market for it in Philadelphia and I know the prices for wine better than wood.”

“I leave it entirely in your hands, madam.”

“Oh, my dear man.” They reached the top step; she turned and slid her arms around his neck. “I do love you so much.”

James kissed her before swinging her up into his arms. “And I you. What’s brought on this effusion, my darling? I know you’re not much given to saying those words, but I’ve heard them several times tonight.” He carried her through into her bedroom, where there was a warm fire, and, as promised, a bottle of champagne in a marble cooler with two crystal glasses beside it.

“Am I saying them too often? I told you I worried it would become tired and trite.”

He set her in a chair by the fire, knelt before her and slipped off her fine kidskin boots before sliding his hands under her skirts and stroking her silk-clad calves. Caroline watched him, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, as she plucked the pins out of her hair and shook the loosened mass into a mane around her shoulders. _My beautiful lioness_ , James thought.

“It is neither, sweet,” he told her. “And I count myself very lucky to have heard those words so often tonight. But I’d like to know the cause, if for no other reason than to ensure a repeat performance.”

“You’re very silly, James. I’ve told you I’ll say ‘I love you’ whenever you wish to hear it.” She leaned over and undid her work of an hour before, unwinding his neckcloth and plucking open the buttons on his weskit.

“Indeed, but I prefer it unsolicited. A spontaneous expression of your deepest feelings. So I’ll ask again, blossom, what prompted it?”

“You said you’d leave our cargo to me. No man’s ever been so respectful of me in matters of business before. Even Richard. He was indulgent, yes, but not respectful. You treat me as your partner. It makes me, oh, it makes me feel brimming, no, overflowing with love, James.”

James chuckled. “I should have known that commerce would be the way to your heart, madam.”

“You think me very merchantly,” she said, her face falling a little.

“I do.” He slid his hands up her smooth legs, rucking her skirts up on his arms, and parted the placket on her scandalous bloomers so he could thumb her pouty little nether lips. “And I admire your merchantly skills. And I love that you are my partner in all things, my lioness.”

She gave him a brilliant smile.

He slid his thumb into the valley of her cunny, traced the soft folds within until she was slick, then began to draw a figure eight over her little button and around her opening. She tightened her thighs, squeezing his hand. James listened to her breathing quicken and watched the rose flush spread down her throat as he continued to stroke. “I care nothing for the sensibilities of Society, darling. They may look down on you for your commercial knowledge and expertise, but I never will.”

“No?” she asked huskily.

“No.” He slid his thumb into her yielding passage and stroked her little button with his fingertips. “I care nothing for your bloodlines, your skill at whist, or your knowledge of the latest waltz. But I bow to your understanding of supply and demand; I worship your mastery of exchange; and I am wholly seduced by your finesse as a negotiator.”

“I think it’s you who are seducing me, James.” She swallowed, her satin throat working.

“Do I need to, darling?” He thrust his thumb in, curled it, and drew it back out, only to thrust in again. Caroline gripped the chair and pulsed against his hand, her hips and thighs moving rhythmically.

“N-no,” she managed, despite her evident distraction. “Why are you?”

“To remind you that you are not the loser in this bargain. I’ve watched you tonight, Caroline. You’ve taken every revelation in your stride. Never flinching. Never judging. I know what I have in you, sweet.” He thrust his thumb a little harder, a little faster, and was rewarded with her moan. “But you must wonder at this cruel creature you’ve tied yourself to. This harsh and wicked man. You must quail a little at the risk I put you in. I do this, now, to remind you that there are advantages to being with me, and I promise you, my wife-to-be, that you’ll not regret tying yourself to me.”

She laughed, low and throaty. “I’ve never for one instant regretted it, nor will I. It’s what I’ve wanted since I saw you at Countess Musgrove’s party.” She stroked his cheek. “I’ve made the best bargain of my life by agreeing to marry you. And I’m clearly getting the better end of the deal.” She reached out with a trembling hand, into the open neck of his shirt and caressed his chest. “I get all this, my glorious golden lion. While you get a sallow little merchant’s daughter who can’t even give you children—”

“I don’t need more children.” _I don’t know what to say to the one I have_ , he thought. He moved his thumb with greater determination, to cut off what he felt to be a mood-dampening line of conversation.

Caroline’s head fell back against the chair as she gasped. “James!”

“Yes, my absolute darling.”

“Oh.” She tossed her head, her hair frothing around her shoulders. “I think I—”

“Yes, I think so, too,” he said, feeling her passage grip his thumb. He worked his hand over her to draw out her climax. She arched against the chair, grinding herself against him, and gasped out his name as her pleasure peaked. James continued to thrust his thumb into her spasming passage and rub his fingers over her little berry, until she collapsed back into the chair, panting and heavy-eyed.

Pleased with her response, and his ability to draw it out of her, James stroked her quivering cunny a few times before withdrawing his hand. He rose, cracking stiff knees and moved to her washstand to rinse his hand. Then he opened the champagne and poured two glasses before he returned to his fiancée, lifted her limp but unresisting body out of the chair, sat and drew her back down into his lap. He handed her a glass of champagne and took up his own.

“To our future, Caroline. And to each of us being well-pleased with our bargain,” he toasted.

She _tinked_ her glass against his and nestled against him.

“You cannot be well-pleased, my dear man. You’ve had no satisfaction since this afternoon.”

“Ah, true, but it doesn’t follow that I’m not well-pleased. I’m extremely well-pleased. This could have been a grim evening. You could have been less adept at handling your otter and he could have delayed our departure. You could have objected to my vengeance. You could have involved yourself with the King’s Commissioner and told him things I don’t wish him to know. You could have thwarted me in a dozen ways. Instead, you’ve given me your unflinching, unhesitating support. It pleases me more than you will ever understand, my dove.”

“Mmm.” She kissed his throat. “You will always have it, James.”

“Always, darling? Men will die before we sail. That is a certainty. I have hope they will not be men close to you, but I cannot guarantee it. Will I still have your support when you are faced with their deaths?”

She nodded. “It’s as you’ve said. What you do, you must do; what is to come, must come. Your path is neither simple nor safe, James, but I will walk it with you.”

He raised his glass to her in a silent toast. She tapped hers against it, and they drank to their future.

*

In the golden morning, James found himself awake before Caroline. The champagne, on top of burgundy and brandy, had gone to her head and by the time they’d retired to her bed, and gotten her damn dress off her, she’d been light-headed. She’d giggled all the way through their lovemaking, which James first found distracting and then charming, so he’d tickled her to keep her giggling while he fucked her until he’d reached a point where fulfilment was more important than anything else and he’d let her giggles change to whimpers as she reached a second peak and he’d emptied his soul into her.

Lying with her afterwards, winding her curls around his fingers and listening to her hiccup, he’d told her again that nothing mattered more to him than her happiness, their happiness together, and that he’d do anything for her, sacrifice anything. She’d asked nothing of him, and James was finally assured that she didn’t want him to abandon his vengeance.

He’d slept, wrapped around her, as he hadn’t slept since he was a child, swinging in the hammock of his father’s ship, rocked gently by the trades. Before he’d realised the truth of his mother’s death. Before his sister had reached her womanhood. Before he’d lost his father’s respect. When he still believed in hope and honour.

When he woke, he found himself beginning to believe in those things again.

He let Caroline sleep while he rose, washed and dressed in his heavy silk dressing gown. He slipped through the adjoining door into the sitting room and startled Mr. Singh, who was laying out shaving implements on the table in front of the fire. He acknowledged the man with a nod and repaired to Caroline’s desk, where he wrote out his first instructions, to Brace, while the Sikh finished his preparations.

“I would be pleased to deliver that for you, sir,” Mr. Singh said as James sealed the letter.

“Ah, thank you, but these are for later. After certain events have taken place.”

“Do you see the future, sir? Do you know what is to come?”

James shrugged. “I have a good idea how certain events will unfold. Do you find that odd? Some would say it’s witchcraft.”

“Some would say that sitting outside on a fair day, meditating on my _joti_ with a bowl of _bhang_ , is a sin because I do not pray to the Christian God.”

“Those who would say so are fools, and not worth listening to.” James grunted. “Tell me more about your god.”

Mr. Singh invited James into the wingchair before the fire and while he shaved James, explained the basic tenets of the Sikh faith. _A warrior’s way_ , James thought, hearing the principals of service, honesty, humility and equality. _In a time when most warriors have lost their way._

“Your faith has much to recommend it,” James said.

“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Singh responded. “What of you? You’ve been many places. You must have met many different gods. What of your faith?”

“I lost it long ago.” _Somewhere between shipwreck and battlefield_ , James thought. “I have met men of many different faiths. None have appealed to me. But you have reminded me of my _joti_. That, I never lost, or perhaps Mrs. Grant has rekindled it. I only know I feel it again, and I’ll take care to nurture it from now on.”

Mr. Singh wiped James’s face with a damp towel before he nodded. “So long as your _joti_ burns bright, you will never be lost. God will walk beside you, whether you feel Him or not.”

 _I don’t_ , James thought. _I never have, not in pew or prayer, not in storm or sickbed. I’ve never felt any impulse to godliness. But I do feel that light, and I will keep it burning bright._

James waited until the Sikh had rubbed oil into his beard and packed up his shaving tools. He rose, and held out his hand. Mr. Singh took it with a slight frown. “Sir?”

“I came to London seeking vengeance,” James explained. “I thought only to find conspirators to further my ends. Instead, in this house, I’ve found love and friendship. When my vengeance is complete and I sail, I’ll take my love with me. I’ll be sorry to leave behind my friend.”

Mr. Singh shook his hand earnestly. “Your friend will always be with you. Only look to your _joti_ , and there he will be.”

James nodded and clapped the man on the shoulder, before turning back to Caroline’s writing desk. Mr. Singh quietly picked up the shaving kit and let himself out of the room.

The adjoining door opened a short time later and Caroline entered, wearing her rose dressing gown, her hair a pale gold nimbus around her head and shoulders. James was still at her desk, sealing his last missive, a letter to Miss Bow. Caroline knelt beside his chair and looked up at him. Smiling at her undemanding request for attention, James drew her up into his lap.

She ran her fingertips over the little pile of letters on the desk in front of him. “None for me, James?”

“No, my dove. You have no part in this.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help? Beyond bearing it with you. Which I will do, of course.”

“When you hear of my release from the Tower, you can send a fast horse to Bristol with instructions for Captain Carver to sail our ship to Wapping Wall. But, no, nothing else. I will not risk you, Caroline.”

She nodded and leaned back against him. “I only want to share your risk.”

He nuzzled her temple. “Be my reward instead.”

“Mmm.” She reached back and stroked his cheek and chin. “Have you shaved already?”

“Aye. While you’ve lolled about idly, I’ve been most industrious. I’ve been barbered, taken religious instruction, and seen to my business.”

“I’ve not been idle.” She batted at him, a move made less than effective by her position in his lap. “And what do you mean, taken religious instruction?”

“Mr. Singh has been explaining his faith to me. Most educational.”

“Really? He’s never spoken of it to me.”

“Have you ever asked, darling?”

“Mmm, no, to be fair. I’ve always been a little in awe of Mr. Singh. His reserve is formidable.”

“So is yours, sweet.”

“Oh. Do you think so?” Caroline moved restively in his lap, and James was reminded that he’d forgone their usual morning lovemaking. “I’ve never tried to be reserved with the Singhs. I like them very much.”

“I suspect they return those sentiments, probably more than you know.” He threaded his fingers through her tousled curls and gently tugged her head back until he could catch her mouth. “There’s a natural boundary, darling, between those dedicate themselves to service, and those they serve. Mr. Singh is very respectful of that boundary, probably all the more so because you’re a woman on your own and he’s a married man. He wouldn’t do anything to cross it.”

“But he has with you,” Caroline pointed out.

“He hasn’t so much crossed it as shown me where it lies,” James said, between kisses. “And that while we stand on different sides of that line, we have a great deal of common ground. We are both men, who believe in duty, and who love our women.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Caroline twisted until she got her legs over the arm of the chair and could wind her arms around his neck and return his kisses. “Mmm, James?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Could I tempt you to return to bed?”

“Easily, sweet.”

*

When they rose again, it was to the mid-morning sun. James didn’t have to urge Caroline to hasten her breakfast or toilette. She took one look at the clock, murmured “Robert,” and was off, like a little general, mustering her troops. They were on their way to Wapping Wall in under an hour.

The subject of her concern greeted them at the door of Chamber House, where he was sweeping the stoop. He looked untroubled by the lack of parental attention, but gratified when Caroline hugged him and inquired as to whether he was hungry. When he admitted he was, Caroline rounded on James as though he’d been starving the boy a-purpose.

“Lads his age are hungry all the time,” James protested, but immediately acquiesced when she glared daggers at him. He held up his hands. “We’ll feed him, madam. But I need a moment with him first.”

While Caroline went to the kitchen to explain the loss of his helper to Brace, James took the boy up to the attic room. He took the letters he’d written from his pocket, opened the safe and placed them within, then locked the safe again. He held out the key to Robert.

When the boy reached for it, he moved it out of reach.

Robert didn’t flinch or frown. He just reached for the key again. _He’s as stubborn as any Delaney_ , James thought approvingly. James moved it out of his grasp twice more, then finally let Robert catch the key. Once the lad did, he held it firmly. James released it.

“I told you that you’d hear things that might scare you. Soon, you’ll hear I’ve been taken to the Tower. This is part of my plan, but if you’re frightened, you may go to Mrs. Grant’s.”

“I won’t be frightened, sir,” Robert said quietly.

“Good. The morning after I’m taken, you’ll wait until the bells chime nine. Then you’ll use that key to open the safe. You’ll take out those letters and deliver them. Brace and Miss Bow should be in the house or nearby. I’ll take you to Atticus’s tavern now so you know how to find him, and I’ll point out Mr. Chichester’s office as we pass. Mr. Cholmondeley you’ll have to find. I’ll show you the place he’s most likely to be. If he’s not there, you’ll have to ask after him. Ask among the whores, they’ll know.”

James didn’t ask if Robert knew what a whore was. _He’s a boy, and curious about sex; he’ll know_.

“D’you understand me?”

Robert nodded. “Sir, is there no letter for me?”

“Mrs. Grant asked the same thing.” James chuckled. “Your job, and hers, are the most important. I’ll not entrust them to a letter. She already knows what she must do. You’ll spend the day with me and we’ll go over each step. You’ll have no need for a letter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” James repeated. “Let’s go find a pie shop and get you fed before Mrs. Grant strings me up for starving you. Did Brace not give you food to break your fast?”

The boy shook his head.

“I’ll speak to him.”

“I couldn’t find him this morning, sir. I knocked on his door. He didn’t answer.”

James shrugged. “Food first.” He’d deal with Brace later.

When they rejoined Caroline in the foyer, she, too, reported being unable to find the butler.

“Robert’s had no breakfast,” James advised her. “There’s a pie shop on the way to the Dolphin.” Which James knew from staggering past it several times. “I need a word with Atticus; we’ll feed Robert on the way.”

Caroline drew on her gloves and retied her bonnet. She offered her hand to Robert, who took it with a look of such open adoration that James sighed. _At least I need not worry about him resenting his stepmother as I did_ , he thought. James offered Caroline his elbow and led the little procession along Wapping Wall to the pie seller’s.

Caroline pressed three meat pies on the boy, whose gaze went from adoration to veneration as he ate. That James paid for the pies seemed to make no impression. When they resumed their journey and Robert sought Caroline’s hand again, James resigned himself to playing second fiddle. _At least he’s not giving me those terror-filled eyes anymore_ , he thought.

When they reached the Dolphin, James led them to the work sheds around the back, where Atticus was most likely to be. They found him filling bottles from two casks, one of gin and the other of water. The old sailor looked up sheepishly when they approached.

“That water better not be out of the River, Atticus,” James growled. “No wonder I had such a bad head.”

“Four bottles of gin’ll give any man a bad ‘ead,” Atticus retorted. Then he noticed Caroline and bowed. “Mrs. Grant, me day’s just got brighter. T’what do I owe the pleasure?”

Before Caroline could flatter the man with a response, James grunted. “I need a word, Atticus.”

“At least tell me you brought some of them ginger biscuits.” When James shook his head, Atticus threw up his hands. “Well it ain’t no pleasure to see you at all, James. What d’you want?”

James beckoned Robert, who reluctantly detached himself from Caroline’s side. “You’ve met Robert. Robert, you remember Atticus from when we delivered the powder. Now you know where to find him.”

The boy nodded and returned to Caroline’s side as soon as he’d shaken the old sailor’s hand.

“I need you to meet me at Bedlam,” James told Atticus. “We should check on the powder. How soon can you be there?”

Atticus wiped his hands. “Tomorrow mornin’?”

“Today, Atticus.”

Atticus looked up at the sky, which was slowly filling with grey clouds. “It’s gonna rain, James,” the old sailor whined.

“A fact that concerns me not at all but makes our visit more pressing. No later than four, Atticus. That gets you back before the evening trade and me home in time for dinner.” He held up a warning finger. “Four. No later.”

Atticus hoisted his hands in surrender.

James grunted and turned to go.

“At least bring me some biscuits,” Atticus grumbled.

“No promises,” James responded. He offered Caroline his elbow. She dipped Atticus a polite curtsey before taking his arm. They left Atticus to water the tavern’s gin.

“We’ll find a coffee shop,” James said to Caroline. “You can stuff a cake down the boy.”

“I like cake very much, ma’am,” Robert piped up.

“Then let’s find some cake, my dear gentlemen.” Caroline squeezed James’s arm and swung Robert’s hand as they walked along Wapping Wall.

James took the opportunity to prepare Robert for his upcoming task. He pointed out Chichester’s office as they passed, then said, “Shall we sing for Mrs. Grant, Robert? D’you know ‘Oranges and Lemons’?”

“Yes, sir.”

James began the rhyming song, “Gay go up, and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town.”

Robert joined him, singing in a clear voice that, James thought, must have been the pride of the church choirmaster. “Bull’s eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Marg’rets.”

They sang together through the song, Robert filling in a final verse that James didn’t know. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!”

Despite the gruesome final verse, Caroline clapped and cheered. “Bravo!”

Robert gave her a little bow before her took her hand again. “I know many more songs, ma’am.”

“You must sing them all for me, for I cannot sing at all. And I believe that Mr. Delaney knows some sea chanteys that he might teach to you, if you ask him nicely. Perhaps one every day as we sail to the New World?”

“Yes, please. But, ma’am, why can’t you sing?”

Caroline paused and bent over. She tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her hand around it to show it to the boy. “Do you see in there, Robert? It’s a terrible thing.”

Robert peered into her ear. “What, ma’am?”

“My ear, it’s made of tin.”

Robert peered even more earnestly. “Tin? I can’t see any tin, ma’am.”

“Oh, but it is.” Caroline tickled him and Robert jumped. He looked uncertain for a moment, then his face split into a broad grin and he laughed.

“A tin ear?” The boy gasped through his laughter.

“A terrible, terrible tin ear,” Caroline confirmed, tickling him until he bent double and wriggled away from her. Caroline patted his shoulder to calm him and offered her hand again, which Robert took, still grinning. “All the ladies of my family have them. My mother was even banned from singing psalms in church, she sang so ill.”

“But singing psalms is the best part of church,” Robert protested.

“It is, indeed.” Caroline swung his hand as they continued walking. “And now I’ll be able to enjoy church again, listening to you and Mr. Delaney sing.”

James grunted his objection, which Caroline overrode with a pat on his forearm. James rolled his eyes, but turned his head so neither Caroline nor Robert would see his scorn. _I have three months to convince them both that the best temple is the sky, and the best sermon is the roll of the waves_ , he thought.

They eventually found a coffee shop, less plentiful along the Wall than in more fashionable areas of Town. James settled Caroline and Robert at a table near the window before he checked his pocket watch. He still had enough time to walk to his office before his sister arrived, but not if he had cake and coffee.

He sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs, a little too self-consciously Parisian for his taste, and took Caroline’s hand. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her kidskin-covered knuckles. “Can you and Robert entertain yourselves here for a time, while I see to some final business?”

Caroline nodded. “Of course, James, but would you rather we accompany you?”

“Mmm.” He squeezed her fingers before explaining, “I go to sever my last tie with my sister.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the chintz-covered table, but didn’t pull her hand from his grasp.

“I wouldn’t refuse if you insisted on being present, Caroline. You’re my wife-to-be and that’s your right. But she’ll be hurt and humiliated enough without a witness, or two,” James said with a nod to Robert.

“Yes, yes, you’re right. Robert and I will remain here until you return.”

“Look at me, darling,” James commanded. Caroline immediately lifted her gaze to his and gave him a small, brave smile. He touched her cheek. “I’m severing the final tie.”

Her smile brightened a fraction. “Yes, I heard you.”

“Did you believe me?”

“Always, James.”

“That’s my lioness.” He drew her to him, brushed back her bonnet and kissed her on the forehead, despite their audience. “I should be back in an hour. If I’m not, come to my offices. I’ll wait for you there. We’ll have a drive before I go to meet Atticus. Would you like that, Robert? A drive in Mrs. Grant’s phaeton?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy, who had been watching their exchange a little anxiously, grinned at him.

“Enjoy your cake.” James rose and rubbed the boy’s wool-capped head. Then he stooped to kiss Caroline’s hand again. “Be easy, sweet. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and squeezed his fingers before letting him go.

 _This time_ , he promised her silently, _there will be no mistakes. Nothing that didn’t happen. Nothing I have to regret. I’ll return to you light and clear, and you’ll see nothing in my eyes but love_.

Before he left, he collared the serving girl, gave her enough coin for a dozen cakes and cups of coffee, and ensured she would be appropriately attentive to his little family. He left them in the coffee house’s warmth, seated on chintz, anticipating cake, while he stepped out into the first drops of rain.

*

The sky glowered as he walked along the Wall to his offices, but other than spitting at him a few times, the clouds held off on their damp promise. In his office, he built up the fire and set the coffee-pot to boil. He was sorry to have foregone coffee and cake with Caroline and Robert, if only for the enjoyment of watching the boy stuff himself. _Another time_ , he thought.

As the pot boiled, he heard the squeak of the front door that he deliberately hadn’t oiled. Zilpha let herself into the office without knocking, as they had as children. _She’s punctual_ , James saw with a glance at his pocket watch. _She’s also cool and collected_ , _for a woman who murdered her husband, buried him and gave in to her forbidden desire for her brother all on the same day_.

She walked over the little bridge into the space he’d made his office. It had been where their father had stored charts and maps, while their father and his clerks had had their desks in the back, where the best light was. James wondered if Zilpha remembered it all as clearly as he did.

“Do you know who blew up your ship?” she asked.

 _Of course I do_. James shrugged out of his coat, no longer needed as the room warmed. _Caroline would never ask such a stupid question. But then, she thinks before she speaks or acts, something you never learned to do, sister_.

He picked up a coffee cup and offered it to her. She shook her head as she sank down into the chair across from his desk. James poured himself a cup and brought it back to his desk.

Instead of waiting for him to speak the way Caroline would have, Zilpha plowed ahead. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened. And I think we were right. It wasn’t the time for such . . .” She closed her eyes as though savouring the memory.

 _Is it a pleasant memory for you?_ He wondered resentfully. _Did you enjoy me climbing into your bed covered with your husband’s grave dirt, mad and stinking of gin? Was it another little triumph?_ James felt his gorge rise and gritted his teeth to keep from spewing bile at her.

“And we have plenty of time,” she continued.

“No,” James growled. “No, we don’t.” _We have no time at all. We are done_.

Zilpha’s face froze and she gave him a look that, if he’d not had Caroline’s warmth wrapped securely around him, would have made him crawl.

“When you first came back, you told me you loved me.” She tipped her head to the side and paused to let him rush in with an apology, an affirmation. James said nothing. “I would never have thought—”

“But you don’t think,” James interrupted. _You never have. Everything you’ve done has been thoughtless. You act on instinct. To wound. To gratify your own pride. To fill that great, empty hole in your heart_.

“I know you,” she insisted, watching him. “I know your nature. I know you.”

 _You know nothing. If you knew anything about me, you’d have known not to kill your husband, when I had so many opportunities and deliberately passed them by. If you knew anything about me, you’d have known that I was mad and raving when I came to you and needed comfort, not to be clawed and torn and left bleeding. Whatever connection we once had died long ago; I’ve been clinging to a corpse. You don’t know what I’m thinking; you don’t know what I’m feeling. You know_ nothing _about me anymore_. “No. I believed once that we were the same person.”

“We are.”

James shook his head. “We are not.”

“We are,” she said more firmly, staring at him. James saw the flicker of fury in her eyes. _You never let yourself get angry_ , he thought. _Not even when we were children. You go cold, just like father, and then wreak the same kind of terrible, frozen retribution that he did. I’ve found warmth at last and no longer have to live in the icy hell you and father consigned me to_.

“Not anymore,” he informed her. “Perhaps you should thank your God for that.”

“No. No, James. You can’t do this. Not now.”

“It is done.”

He turned away from the single tear glimmering in her eye. _One tear, is that all you can manage for me, sister?_ He wondered. _Is that even a real tear?_ Whether real or feigned, James found he no longer cared. _I’m done letting you manipulate me. I’m done. We’re done_.

And, finally, it was true. They were done. He picked up the diamond he’d brought for her and placed it carefully on the desk between them. “For your widowhood.”

She cried out and turned her face away from him, but James saw no further tears. He heard no real expression of pain. _So different from that dying-rabbit scream of Caroline’s when she thought she’d lost me. That was true agony, true heartbreak. This is pique and frustration; she’s thwarted, not broken_.

“Now,” he told her. “I have work to do, so please excuse me.”

She took several deep breaths, puffing them out as she controlled herself. Then she stood, smoothed her skirts, took the diamond, and walked away without a backwards glance.

 _Good-bye, sister_ , James thought, but he said nothing and let her go.

He finished his coffee, giving her time to leave, before banking the fire and shrugging back into his coat. As he left, he stopped to pat the marine chronometers, still safely nestled in their wood and straw. He hadn’t yet shown them to Caroline, but there was time for that once they sailed. Part of his instructions to Atticus had concerned loading the chronometers. He had no doubt the old sailor would follow his direction; Atticus didn’t want to founder somewhere between the Azores and the American coast any more than James did. “I’ll see you aboard, my good girls,” he told them in _Twi_.

He strode out of his offices, feeling the way he had when he’d meditated with Mr. Singh: a little stronger, a little surer. The sky was making good on its promise and spat rain at him in gusts, but James merely lifted his face and let the water wash away the last traces of his past.


	29. Chapter 29

James found Robert and Caroline waiting for him at the coffee house. Caroline had an empty cup in front of her, while in front of Robert there were three plates covered in crumbs. James rubbed the boy’s head as he sank into the wrought-iron chair between them. “We’ll have to roll you home like a barrel,” he teased.

Robert grinned up at him.

“Both of you could eat a dozen cakes and still look as lean and hungry as wolves,” Caroline said. She looked closely at him. “Is all resolved?”

James nodded, and was gratified when she displayed neither anxiety nor satisfaction. _It is done_ , he thought. _There’s no need for worry, or for triumph_.

“Would you like a cake, James?” Caroline asked.

“No. I’ll save my appetite for Mrs. Singh’s cooking. Do you remember the food I brought to the farm, Robert?” he asked. When the boy nodded, James continued, “That was made by Mrs. Grant’s excellent cook, who will feed us dinner tonight. And if you’re very lucky, she’ll provide a ration of the best biscuits on Earth for afters.”

The boy’s eyes grew round. “I’d like to try some of the best biscuits on Earth, sir.”

Caroline elbowed him. “He might not even like them.”

“Then Mrs. Singh will have to stretch her culinary talents to sultanas, or perhaps, wildly, to glacé cherries. I’ve promised him the best biscuits on Earth. I can’t renege on that now.” James winked at Robert, who looked a little uncertain. “Now, if the two of you are finished gorging yourselves, your chariot awaits.”

Robert brightened. “I’ve never been in a chariot, sir.”

“Ah.” James realised he might need to be more literal when dealing with the boy.

“Have you been in a phaeton?” Caroline asked, stepping in to salvage James’s gaffe. “It’s faster than a chariot, I warrant.”

Robert shook his head. “I’d like to go in a phaeton, ma’am.”

“So you shall. Cap and coat, Robert. It’s raining,” Caroline said, drawing on her bonnet and tying it under her chin. She pulled on her gloves and started to rise, when Robert rushed around the table and held her chair. “Thank you, Robert. That’s very gentlemanly.”

James checked his glower at the boy for usurping his prerogative. _Let him play the hero. It’s a better role for him than me_. James rose and offered his elbow to Caroline, who wrapped her hand around it before offering her free hand to Robert. The boy led them out of the shop, nearly skipping, either with excitement or an excess of sugar.

“What have you and the boy discussed while I’ve been gone, madam?” James asked Caroline once they were out of the shop and walking. He guided Caroline around a pile of horse shit that Robert jumped over with youthful enthusiasm. James had done the same thing as a boy and was pleased to see Robert behaving as he had. The boy was still too nervous and reserved for James’s liking. “Or has he been too busy stuffing cake down his gullet to converse?”

Caroline shook her head at him. “Don’t be silly. Robert’s been very well mannered. We’ve talked about what books he likes and his schooling.” James nodded; he’d been pleased to discover the boy could read and write. “And we’ve planned a shopping trip.”

James halted. “A what?”

Caroline stumbled, pulled one way by her hold on James’s arm and the other by her hand in Robert’s. James quickly caught her around the waist to check her fall, and took two strides to catch up with the boy. “Apologies, madam. I didn’t mean to play tug o’ war with you.”

Caroline laughed, absolving him. “Piggie-in-the-middle is an unenviable position,” she said lightly. “And don’t be so surprised. Just because you abhor shopping doesn’t mean every man does. Robert has only the suit he’s wearing. He needs other clothes for our voyage, so I’m going to take him shopping while you meet Atticus.”

“I don’t abhor shopping,” James said gruffly, although he did in the main. “Shopping for your pearls was very gratifying. I’d be happy to do that again. But I object to you taking him shopping. I didn’t ask you to take him under your wing to impose his care and keeping on you, Caroline.”

She squeezed his arm. “James, I’m very happy to do it. But if you have concerns, I’ll also be happy to take the cost out of your minority share in the profits of our voyage.”

“Ah, now I see how it will be. Will I have to grovel for every penny, madam director?”

“Yes, I like the sound of that.” Caroline gave him a saucy smile from under the brim of her bonnet.

James leaned in as close as their various brims would allow. “You’re far more likely to feel the kiss of my palm or belt, madam.”

Caroline giggled. “I like the sound of that, too.”

*

Back at Chamber House, James found Lorna in the kitchen, haphazardly attacking a duck in a manner that would result in nothing edible.

“Where’s Brace?” he asked her.

“In his room,” she said, tossing feathers over her shoulder. “He’s been there all day, either mad or sick or drunk.”

James nodded. He took five apples from the bowl on the counter and retreated, first to his attic room, where he retrieved Robert’s book, then back down the stairs to Brace’s door. He stood on the stair for a long moment, smelling the stink of mildew that pervaded the house. He smelled the blood from the kitchen as Lorna dismembered the duck. _Blood and rot. That’s what this house has always smelled of. Be done with it_ , he told himself. _Earn the rest of the day with Caroline and Robert. Sever the final tie._

He pounded on the door. “Brace, you are not sick, and you are not dead yet. Come out, or I will come in there and drag you out.”

James waited, and when he heard the bed creak, he moved up the stairs to the hallway where there were two chairs. He sat heavily in the more comfortable wing chair and propped his boots on the bannister. He wasn’t relishing this confrontation. If anything, he’d been avoiding it. But he’d known, since he first stepped through the door of Chamber House, that it would come.

Brace entered the hallway gingerly, looking every day his years: a frail, shrunken old man. He sat in the straight chair across from James.

“Talk to me about the rats,” James said.

“Every house has rats.”

James grunted. “Mmm, but after you bought so much arsenic from the apothecary in Rotherhithe, pinch after pinch, after pinch. It’s a great deal of poison. Still we have rats.”

James saw Brace’s face crease and crumple. He followed the old butler’s eyes down to his hands, which were white-knuckled around something he was holding.

“What’s that?” James asked.

Brace opened his hand. “Your father’s buttons. From his dress coat. I kept them.”

 _Because you loved him_ , James thought. _More than I ever did_.

“It was a kindness,” Brace said brokenly.

The last, little, vain hope that it had not been Brace who killed his father trickled away. James shrugged deeper into the warm coat of Caroline’s affection to shield himself from the old butler’s betrayal.

“For who?” James asked.

“We couldn’t go on, James.”

“But you did.”

“You were dead. Everyone was at his throat. He was burning his own flesh. No need to go on. Nothing left to live for.”

James nodded. _In the end, it came down to family, didn’t it, old man?_ he thought. _Family you pushed away while you had wealth and status. But when all your illusions were stripped away, there was nothing left. The family you tried so hard to control had slipped away from you_.

“So you did him a kindness.”

“I put an end to his pain.”

“You did him a _kindness_ ,” James repeated.

“I killed him. You came back too late! For both of us.”

 _Yes_ , James thought. _Blame me. I will shoulder it, and take the guilt from you. That is my gift to you for all you have done for me, and my father, over the years_.

“You are wanted urgently downstairs.” James waved his gloved hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Mrs. Delaney is destroying the kitchen. She’s about to ruin a duck.”

Brace glanced at the stairs, from which the sound of Lorna’s chopping could be heard. Slowly, the old servant stood and made his way to the stairs. James took a deep breath and let it out. _That’s over_ , he told himself. _The last tie. Now I’m free to pursue my futur_ e. Then he rose and let himself out into the rain to rejoin his family.

*

In the street, Caroline and Robert were waiting for him in her jaunty phaeton. When her horses saw him, they tossed their heads, jangling the bells on their bridles, and James was pleased he’d thought to bring them each an apple. He let them munch contentedly while he climbed into the phaeton, adjusted the canopy against the drizzling rain, and offered Caroline and Robert two of the remaining apples. Then he took up the reins, clucked to the pair and set them off at a brisk clip towards Mayfair.

Caroline looked into his face as he mounted. She nodded to herself, wrapped her hand around his elbow and leaned into him as they set off. “At the top of the stair,” she whispered to him. “Our fair ship sits, her sails billowing in the trades.”

James nodded. He felt her warmth, her sweet comfort, wrap around him. Without weight. Without constriction. A blanket that slowly eased the cold tension lingering from his confrontations with Zilpha and Brace. As he had many times before, he let her soothe him and relaxed against her as they drove.

The hour and the drizzle cleared the roads across the city and they made good time along the Thames. Instead of turning up Drury Lane, James kept to the River, following The Strand into the first of the three pleasure gardens. When they reached the public road along the southern edge of Hyde Park, James pulled up the pair.

It was too early for the smart set to be out riding, or, more properly, to be out showing off their latest bloodstock, conquests and carriages. James was counting on the hour and the drizzle to leave the avenues open. During the fashionable hours, the lanes would be so congested, he wouldn’t have been able to give the horses their heads, much less indulge in the treat he had planned for Robert and Caroline.

Caroline gave him a quizzical glance as they rolled to a stop.

“Put Robert between us,” James instructed. Caroline turned to Robert and handed him over, to sit between them. Then James handed the reins to Caroline.

“I thought you might like to give the boy a driving lesson.”

“Oh, yes, I’d be delighted.” Caroline put her arm around Robert and positioned his hands inside hers on the reins. While Caroline clucked to the pair and set them off, James ate his apple, then took out his pipe, striker and tobacco. There were few other teams or riders on the bridleway, and Caroline’s horses were too placid to be disturbed by the smell of his pipe. He lit up contentedly and stretched his free arm along the back of the padded seat, resting his glove on Caroline’s shoulder.

She gave him a smile over the top of Robert’s head.

“Mrs. Grant’s the best horsewoman I’ve met,” James told Robert as he puffed on his pipe. “She’s got a fine, light hand on the reins. Others saw on their mount’s mouths, tugging them this way and that. There’s no need to manhandle a well-trained horse. You can learn much from her.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert responded, his big eyes darting to take in everything from the path in front of them to the jingling tack to Caroline’s hands over his on the reins.

Caroline flashed James another smile, this one containing surprise as well as delight.

At the end of the public road, Caroline turned the pair around and took her hands off the reins. “Now you give it a try on your own, Robert,” she urged the boy.

He took up the reins with wide eyes, but started the horses off.

“Go on, give them a tap,” James encouraged him. When Robert flicked the reins, the pair broke into a canter and they flew down the oakum path to the sound of bridle bells and Caroline’s laughter.

*

The rain was sheeting down in earnest by the time they returned to Harley Street. Unfortunately, the wet did not deter Caroline from her planned shopping expedition. She collected umbrellas for herself and Robert while Thomas fed and watered the pair. Then she dragged Robert away from where he was admiring James’s horse and headed off to the shops.

James shook his head as he turned his grey in the other direction. He didn’t begrudge the boy time with Caroline. And he didn’t begrudge Caroline playing mother to the boy. _I just begrudge them becoming a family without me_ , he thought. _When I return, I’ll ask Mr. Singh for more of his wisdom. Robert may need a mother more than a father right now, but he might want a father eventually, and I still don’t know how to be one to him_.

The persistent rain found the little gap between his hat brim and the collar of his greatcoat and trickled cold down the back of his neck. James set his heels into his horse’s sides and quickened its pace towards Bedlam.

He was wet through and in a sodden temper by the time he reached the abandoned hospital. There, he found the situation worse than he feared: with one of Atticus’s ruffians blithely standing over an unenclosed blaze in the courtyard, and the rain dripping through the leaking roof near the barrels of powder. He upbraided Atticus’s man and then Atticus himself when the old sailor finally appeared.

Returning to the room where his mother had suffered and died drew a worse pall over James’s mood than the weather. It made him harsher, and stranger, with Atticus than he should have been. Atticus’s eyes grew round within their folds and his expression taut as James warned him of Helga’s impending betrayal. James clapped the man on the shoulders to reassure him, then insisted Helga not be harmed.

 _She is wounded_ , he thought. _She only strikes out from that deepest grief. She will come to her senses again once it is over, and she sees that she hurts herself more than me by going to the Crown or Company. For they will not treat her gently, or appreciate what she has lost_.

“Fix the roof,” he told Atticus in parting. “Gunpowder and water don’t mix.”

He reclaimed his horse and rode back to Harley Street. _For my final night with Caroline before the Tower_ , he thought. He didn’t question how it he knew it. He’d had no vision, no warning. He simply knew. He accepted it, wrapped it into his thinking. It became one of the steps leading up the stair to his ship. _Our ship. Caroline’s and mine, and Robert’s. We will sail away on it soon. To our new life in the New World_.

When he reached Harley Street, he discovered that Caroline and Robert were still out shopping. The house was warm and fragrant with the smells of dinner. James gave his wet clothes to Mr. Singh, then padded up to Caroline’s bedroom, feeling his mind and body relax with each step. He stripped off his wet linen and hung it before the fire, before putting on dry linen and his cashmere coat. He wound his necktie around his neck and fastened it with the sapphire pin, more to show Caroline how much he appreciated her gift than because he felt any need for formality in her home.

Returning downstairs, he made his way into the kitchen where he found the Singh family. They exchanged greetings, then he asked, “Might I have some of that excellent masala chai in the parlour, Mrs. Singh? And Mr. Singh, if you have a moment, would you join me?”

The Sikhs nodded and bowed, and James withdrew to the parlour. It was already set for the evening, with three armchairs, James noted, drawn close to the crackling fire, brandy and port on the sideboard. Mary Molesworth’s painting had been removed from the mantle, which was as bare as the bookshelf built into the corner. _Caroline’s no longer hiding her departure_ , he thought, and realised how carefully she had been hiding it when they first met. _The face she presents to the world, open-hearted and gay, is her true face, but so is the deliberate, insightful spy. She is a rare woman, of many faces, and she has done me the great honour of letting me see them all._

James seated himself in the armchair closest to the fire, enjoying the warmth that chased the last of the day’s dampness from his bones. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes to wait, but the door opened almost immediately.

Caroline’s maid entered and put a steaming teapot and two cups and saucers on the table by James’s elbow. Mr. Singh followed her and sat across from James. The girl poured and handed each man a cup before withdrawing.

“She seems to have recovered from her upset,” James observed to Mr. Singh.

The Sikh nodded. “She felt she’d betrayed Mrs. Grant by speaking too freely to the innkeep’s maid in Bristol. But Mrs. Grant has kindly forgiven her and arranged for her to have a place with Miss Hawley after you sail. That’s settled her.”

“Ah.” _I should have known Caroline had more reason than just saying a final good-bye for her lunch with Ginny_ , James thought. _My clever lioness_.

They drank their tea in silence for a moment, then Mr. Singh cleared his throat. “How may I be of service, sir?”

“I hoped you might speak with me more about fatherhood,” James said.

Mr. Singh regarded his tea for a long moment. “It must be very hard, to suddenly be father to a strange child.”

“I don’t know what to say to him.” James held up his hand, then let it drop. “Mrs. Grant seems wholly at ease with him after only a few hours. She tells him stories and he falls asleep in her arms. She feeds him cake and takes him shopping and he looks at her with adoration. I look at him sideways and he flinches from me in terror.” Even as he said it, he thought, _that’s not entirely fair. He did watch me butcher a man_. “What do you say to your son?”

“Sometimes very little,” Mr. Singh responded. “Sometimes it is better for a father to listen. What does the boy say to you?”

“Almost nothing. He’s afraid of me.”

“You must allow that to a small boy, you might seem a fearsome man.”

 _And he saw me do a fearsome thing_ , James thought. “I’ve tried hard to reassure him that I mean him no harm and only seek to take care of him.”

“Does he respond to questions?”

James nodded.

“Then begin with questions. What does he like?”

“Cake,” James said.

Mr. Singh chuckled. “Most boys do. What else does he like? What amuses him? Find those things which entertain him and he will talk freely to you of them. Most boys like animals. Does he have a pet?”

“No, and now’s not the time to give him a dog when we’re about to spend three months aboard a ship. But I could promise him one when we reach Philadelphia.”

“What about a cat? There were several cats aboard the ship we took from India. They were useful in keeping down the rats, one of the sailors said.”

James lifted his teacup to the man. Although he preferred dogs, he had no objection to cats, and Robert could have several pets. “Excellent idea, thank you.”

“Does he like horses?”

“Aye,” James said, thinking of the boy’s enthusiasm for driving Caroline’s phaeton and his admiration of James’s grey.

“Thomas gives my boy a riding lesson every morning in the park when the weather’s fine. If you’d like your boy to join them, I’m sure they’d have no objection. Then you could join the lesson and that would be another thing you share with him.”

 _We have time for that in the morning_. James smiled. “I knew you would be a font of wisdom on this subject.”

“Not a font,” Mr. Singh demurred. “But I do know what it is to struggle with fatherhood.” He turned his teacup around in his hands, looking into it again. “A man must set the rules. He must be the disciplinarian. He must be stalwart and steadfast. But it is hard to see them turn to their mother for comfort when I love them just as much as she does, and take no pleasure in punishing them. Sometimes I think it is more of a punishment for me than them.”

James chuckled sympathetically. “I’m glad I haven’t had to punish Robert yet. I’m not sure I could endure the censure I’d receive from both him and Mrs. Grant. But I know what you mean. He turns to Mrs. Grant for all affection already, and it digs at me. I’m his blood, after all.”

Mr. Singh rose and checked James’s cup, which was empty. He poured them both a fresh cup before resuming his chair. “You said he’d never had a mother before?”

“No, not one he remembers.”

“Then motherly affection is a novelty,” Mr. Singh offered. “But he may find it wearing after a time. My boy does. Then he’s very happy for my company, and Robert might seek yours more after the novelty of a mother’s affection has worn off.”

“Yes,” James admitted. “And perhaps I’m trying too hard with him. I feel as though he and Mrs. Grant are forming a family that I’m not quite part of. But maybe there will be more place for me in the future.”

Mr. Singh nodded. “Family is not something to rush.”

“It happened so quickly with Mrs. Grant,” James said, struggling to explain his discomfort. “I knew within a few days of meeting her that I wanted her to be my wife. That’s not something I’d even contemplated before I met her, having a wife, or a family. And now there’s this boy, a son, and I feel none of the ease with him that I felt from the very start with Mrs. Grant.”

The white gleam of a smile peeped between the black curls of Mr. Singh’s beard and moustache. “It is much harder to be a father than a husband. We do not have the luxury of choosing our family as we do our wives. From the beginning of our marriage, I have known how to make my wife happy. It takes care and attention but is no hardship. Making my children happy is a struggle, and some days I do not succeed. But there is always tomorrow to try again.”

“Aye, there is. Are your children forgiving of your failures?”

“That is the best thing about children. They forget your failures almost immediately. Your wife may remind you of them for years, but your children will have forgotten them tomorrow, if they noticed them in the first place.”

 _Did I forgive my father so readily?_ James wondered, trying to remember a time when he hadn’t felt soul-searing resentment towards his father. _Before he sent me to Woolwich, when I travelled with him, I didn’t hate him then_. “Would you ever send your son away from you?” James asked.

The Sikh shook his head. “A son needs his father. Even once he becomes a man. My father died when I was ten and seven. I have missed him every day since then. I was not ready to be fatherless.”

“Maybe no son ever is,” James said. _As much as I resented him, as long as I stayed away, I’m still not ready for him to be gone_ , James admitted to himself.

“Sons may leave their fathers. I would have left mine some day to travel to England. That was always my dream. But I would have gone back. He would have been the home I returned to. Without him, I am homeless in this world. Wherever my wife and children are is where I live, but it is not home.”

James leaned forward, holding his teacup between his knees. “No, it’s not. I, too, am homeless in the world. But I have promised Mrs. Grant, and myself, that we will make a home in Philadelphia. D’you think that’s possible?”

“Yes. If you make a place for your boy, it might become a home for you. Maybe that is the secret of it. To make a home for your children, as my father made a home for me.”

“Did he always live in the same village?” James asked.

“No. My father came from the east, from a place called Gumla. It is an area of great unrest now, and I am glad we are far away from it, or my son might have already been called on to fight. So it was in my father’s time, too, and he left to travel to the Punjab, seeking the teachings of the Tenth Guru. He crossed the width of the entire Maratha Empire on foot. That is a very great distance.”

James grunted, feeling an ever-deeper kinship with this man. “My father was a great traveller, too. He sailed all around the world. But he ended up back here, in the city where he was born. He felt it was home. I can’t find the same feeling for it. London seems exhausted to me, and I feel exhausted here. I long to escape. Do you truly want to stay?” As soon as he asked the question, James shook himself and held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. It’s none of my concern.”

“You may ask your friend anything,” Mr. Singh reassured him. “It is a relief to talk of these things with you. I would not wish to discuss these matters with my wife, or any other woman, and Thomas is too young to understand.”

James smiled. He didn’t want to talk about fatherhood with Caroline, either. She would be understanding of his insecurity, he had no doubt. But that’s not what he wanted at the moment. He wanted guidance, and reassurance, from a man who had mastered the struggles he was experiencing.

“Compared to the decaying empires of the Mughals, London seems new and vibrant to me,” Mr. Singh continued. “But I, too, see the soot, and the poverty, and the privation. Is the New World so very different? Is all clean and new there?”

“I doubt it,” James admitted. “Everywhere man goes he brings soot and poverty and privation. But the New World is not so stultifying as the old. Mrs. Grant’s stories of her childhood in Philadelphia make it sound like a child’s paradise. Catching crayfish in the river, rafting down the Delaware, racing horses, shooting pigeons, building snow forts and ice-skating in winter. I want Robert to have all that. Instead of coal smoke and mud and the stigma of being a bastard in London society.”

Mr. Singh took another sip of tea and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I have not heard Mrs. Grant’s stories of Philadelphia. That does sound very fine, and I can see why you would want your boy to have those experiences. Any father would.”

“But does giving him those things make me a good father? There seems more to it than that.”

“Of course.” Mr. Singh chuckled. “There are also the things you must deny him for his own good. The disappointments, big and small. The hurts of body and mind that you will have to soothe without being able to fix everything with a hug and a kiss, the way his mother can. And the constant, terrible fear of losing him to disease or injury. There is all that as well. But if you can give him those good things, along with your constant, unwavering affection, it makes up for all the rest.”

James felt his throat grow tight, and took a hasty swallow of tea. _That’s what was missing_ , he thought. _Constant, unwavering affection. I never felt that from my father. If I can give that to Robert, then I will not follow in my father’s footsteps_.

“Is that what your father gave you?” he asked hoarsely.

Mr. Singh nodded. “I never doubted his love, even when he fought with me. I was not a perfect son, and sometimes we argued. But even then I knew he loved me.”

“I was a very poor son,” James admitted. “I never believed in my father’s love. He showed it rarely. Grudgingly. As though it was something I forced out of him, and he hated revealing it.”

“You fear being like him,” Mr. Singh said softly, half a statement and half a question.

“Aye.”

“You won’t be.” Mr. Singh sat forward and caught James’s eye. “You won’t be. That you seek to be a good father ensures you won’t be a poor one. The trying is everything. Just as with being a good husband. It is only a case of trying every day, of forgiving yourself your failures, and trying again.”

“Ah,” James quipped. “No new wisdom after all.”

“No.” Mr. Singh grinned: a wide swath of white between black, curly curtains. “I am, as the English say, a one-trick pony.”

James chuckled. “Thank you, again, for your wisdom.”

“Thank you, for the relief of speaking of these things, man to man, which lie close to my heart but I can never say.”

James reached out and offered the Sikh his hand, which Mr. Singh shook firmly.

“Do you want another pot of tea while you wait for Mrs. Grant and the boy?” Mr. Singh asked.

James shook his head. “I’ll have a brandy, and read some of those poems Miss Hawley gave me.”

“I will have Maria bring the folio down. I believe she’s packed it. Do you intend to leave tomorrow? Mrs. Grant told us to be ready for a hasty departure.”

“It will be. But not tomorrow. Two days. Maybe three. The King’s men will take me first.”

Mr. Singh collected James’s cup and put it with his next to the teapot. “I remember what you told me. I will reassure Mrs. Grant and the boy, and be ready for when you’re released.”

“You don’t ask if it can be avoided,” James observed, sitting back in his chair.

“No, sir. You said all proceeded according to your plan. You are not a man to brook interference in your plans.”

“True. I’ll do everything I can to avoid being taken from this house, but if I am, I would be obliged if you would not interfere, and if you would keep Thomas and the women away as well. This is not the time for displays of loyalty.”

Mr. Singh’s hand fell to his belt, where, James had noticed, he always carried a dagger, but he nodded. “You will go with them without a fight?”

“Aye, I’ll try to. But King’s men are an excessively patriotic bunch, and I will be accused of treason, so they may resort to violence.”

Mr. Singh chuckled. “If that’s the case, it’s Mrs. Grant I’ll have to restrain. I will ensure her rifle and pistols are packed away.”

“Please.” James grunted. “I’d have them packed away and the trunk mislaid if I didn’t know she’d just buy replacements.”

“Yes, she would. She’s a very good shot.”

“So I’ve heard. I trust she will not have the opportunity to practice her marksmanship on the King’s men. I’d rather not leave London with a price on my fiancée’s head.”

“No.” Mr. Singh lingered at the table for a moment. Then he reached out and put his hand on James’s shoulder. “We will be ready. When it’s over, we will be ready.”

James put his hand over the Sikh’s. “I’ll rely on you.”

Mr. Singh nodded, squeezed James’s shoulder and left, closing the parlour door silently behind him.

James stretched his legs to the fire and smiled.

*

Caroline and Robert’s clattering return woke James from a warm, pleasant doze. He stretched, set aside the folio of poems he’d been nodding over, rose and went to greet his family.

Robert, swathed in a brown greatcoat that was a miniature of James’s, and so laden with paper-wrapped parcels he could barely see over the stack, was being fussed over by Mrs. Singh and Maria, while Mr. Singh quietly took direction from Caroline as to the distribution of the parcels. She paused in her directions when she saw James and curtseyed to him.

“Good evening, sir.”

He bowed. “Good evening, madam. Your shopping has been terrifyingly successful, I see.”

She rolled her eyes at him and went back to speaking to Mr. Singh.

James relieved Robert of the top-most, tottering parcel, tucked it under his arm, and rubbed the boy’s wool-capped head. “Are you well-outfitted for our journey?”

“Yes, sir. And we bought things for you, too, sir.”

“Did you? Then you can show them to me after dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here, let me take those, young master.” Mr. Singh, fully instructed, relieved Robert of his burdens, and took the parcel from James as well, before ushering them into the parlour. “Dinner will be served in a quarter hour.”

Without the new greatcoat, in his short jacket and trousers, Robert looked cold, so James put him in the armchair closest to the fire, and Caroline in the chair opposite in case she was also chilled. He sat on Caroline’s far side, took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and rested their clasped hands on his thigh while he invited them to tell him all about their shopping.

“It was three whole floors, sir,” Robert gushed, holding his hands out to the fire. “Bigger than any house.”

James glanced at Caroline. “Where was this?”

“Clark and Debenham’s on Wigmore Street. It’s a drapers, but they sell ready-to-wear, too, and were happy to do alterations while we waited, which is why we’re so late. Since Mr. Debenham joined last year, they’ve started stocking a great deal more than just cloth. It was quite a wonderland, wasn’t it, Robert?”

“Yes, sir. There was one room with just hats and bonnets. Every sort. There was a woolly one with flaps down over the ears. Mrs. Grant bought four of those.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “Did you now, madam? What need could your one little head have for four of the same hat?”

“One for each of us and one for Atticus,” Caroline said primly. “It’s coming up winter; with his bald pate, he’ll be cold.”

James shook his head at her. “There is no need for you to outfit my men.”

“One hat doesn’t constitute outfitting your men. It purports to be waterproof, too. Some sort of clever lacquer. Very useful in the rain and sea spray.”

James gave up teasing her and kissed her knuckles again. “Thank you for my new hat.”

“Yes, thank you for all my new things, Mrs. Grant,” Robert piped up.

James eyed the boy. “Have you not said ‘thank you’ to Mrs. Grant already?”

Caroline squeezed his fingers. “Robert’s been very mannerly. The shop was a little overwhelming, wasn’t it, Robert? Particularly when they began plying us with tea and cake while we waited.”

“More cake?” James groaned.

“We only ate a little to be polite. It was sponge, and rather dry. Robert, why don’t you tell Mr. Delaney about the kites?”

Robert was watching James with wide eyes, but said, “There were all sorts of silk kites, sir. We got one in the shape of a dragon and another that looks like a fish.”

“There were no lions, I’m afraid,” Caroline murmured. “But the golden carp is very handsome.”

“Is it a long kite, more like a stocking?” James asked, being familiar with wind socks.

Robert nodded.

“Then we’ll be able to fly it from the mast of our ship. It will show which way the wind’s blowing, and aid in your lessons from Mrs. Grant on ship craft and navigation.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said, with markedly less enthusiasm than the last time they’d discussed such lessons.

James groaned inwardly. _I’m saying nothing right to him_. He reached for a little of Mr. Singh’s wisdom. “What was your favourite thing?” he asked.

“The pig, sir.”

“There was a pig in the store?” James asked incredulously, unable to envision how they would keep a pig in a draper’s shop.

“It’s a stuffed pig. A little woolly thing,” Caroline murmured.

“It’s black and white,” Robert elaborated. “Just like my pig Eleanor on the farm.”

“Eleanor’s a very good name for a pig,” James said, trying not to fumble this tiny opening. “Did you have any cats on the farm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you like them?”

“Yes, sir, but I wasn’t allowed to feed or stroke them. Mr. Ibbotson said that would make them soft and they wouldn’t keep the mice out of the grain.”

“I see,” James said. “Would you like a cat you could feed and stroke? I was thinking we might need a cat aboard ship and you would be doing me a great favour if you were to look after it.”

“Oh, yes, sir.” Robert’s eyes finally lit up and James sighed inwardly with relief. “Could it be a white cat, like your horse?”

“Aye, we’ll do our best to find a white cat. I think that would be a fine expedition for tomorrow afternoon. A white cat hunt.” James glanced at Caroline. “Perhaps Thomas could lead the white cat hunt while you and I attend to business?”

Caroline nodded quickly. “I’ll ask him to make inquiries in the morning. If all else fails, there’s a pet shop in Spitalfields.”

“Excellent. What will you name your cat, Robert?”

“If it’s a white cat, Snowball, sir.”

 _Not very inventive, but I must make allowances for how young he is_ , James thought. “A fine name for a white cat.”

“Sir, what’s your horse’s name?” Robert asked.

“I haven’t named him,” James admitted. “He’s smarter than me, you see, and I’m afraid he’d object to whatever name I picked.”

Robert gave a small laugh. “A horse isn’t smarter than you, sir.”

“Ah, my horse is. He knows where I should be, and where I shouldn’t,” James said, thinking of the horse’s behaviour on the ill-fated day of his liaison with his sister. “He knows his way home better than I do. I’ll miss him when we sail.”

“Surely you’re not going to leave him behind, James?” Caroline asked softly.

“Mmm. If we were sticking to the coast, I’d take him, but the North Atlantic crossing will be rough, even if we’re lucky with the trades. I wouldn’t want to put a horse through that, and particularly not a horse who has been so good to me.” James squeezed her fingers, more gently than she’d squeezed his. “I thought to give him to Thomas when we go. An addition to the lad’s burgeoning stable.”

“Oh, Thomas would be very pleased. He intends to hire out the phaeton for weddings and the like. Your grey would be perfect for that.”

James smiled to hear her call the horse a grey. _Of course my equestrienne knows the proper terminology_. “Aye, I thought so.”

They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, which preceded Maria poking her white-capped head in. “Dinner’s ready, sir,” she said.

James nodded at the girl and she withdrew. He rose and offered Caroline his elbow. As she stood, and before she could do so, he offered Robert his hand.

The boy looked at him askance for a moment, then surged to his feet and took James’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to reverse the order of the scenes at Chamber House and Bedlam in this chapter for plot purposes. I hope the liberty doesn't bother anyone!


	30. Chapter 30

_Mrs. Singh’s found another hungry Delaney boy to feed_ , James thought, watching Robert wolf down a third helping of apple tart. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Caroline watching Robert with an indulgent smile as she sipped her wine. _Very much the way she watches me_ , he thought.

Like Robert, James had partaken heartily of Mrs. Singh’s excellent spread, and discovered a new favourite: artichokes stuffed with mincemeat and smothered in a green sauce that was nothing like anything James had tasted before. James had four helpings, at which Caroline and Robert exchanged glances, and chuckles. Full of artichoke, and roasted rabbit, and curried squash soup, and leafy salad with currants, James hadn’t been able to manage any of the three different types of tart that appeared for pudding, but contented himself with a ginger biscuit and brandy.

“The King’s men won’t be able to take me,” he murmured to Caroline. “It will take a dozen of them to roll me into a carriage.”

Caroline laughed into her wine. “How could they with a stone of artichoke weighing you down? Honestly, James, I had no idea you were so fond of them or I’d have had her serve them with every meal.”

James shrugged helplessly. “I believe that spiky green things should be avoided, as a rule. I can’t seem to resist anything that comes out of Mrs. Singh’s kitchen. Even vegetables.”

“What a terrible downfall for such a magnificent carnivore, to be reduced to a diet of spiky green things.”

“I still have quite an appetite for meat,” James told her. “Particularly the most tender kind, as I’ll show you later.”

Caroline arched an eyebrow and glanced at Robert, who was engrossed in his pudding and took no notice. “Well, I would be most dismayed if you suddenly eschewed _all_ meat.”

“Never fear, my darling. I am and remain your slavering lion.”

She drowned her giggle in a sip of wine.

They waddled back to the parlour after dinner, where James re-installed Robert and Caroline in the armchairs closest to the fire. As James had hoped, warm and full of good food, Robert nodded off before he’d managed to read them more than a few pages of Telemachus’ journey through Sparta. James caught the tattered book before it slid out of Robert’s lap to the floor. Then he gathered up the boy and carried him up to the guest room that the staff had readied. James was relieved to see that it was at the other end of the house from Caroline’s bedroom. _He’s already seen and heard enough of our lovemaking_ , James thought.

Mr. Singh followed James up the stairs like a turbaned shadow and when James laid the boy on the bed, Mr. Singh stepped forward and undressed the boy with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice.

“There’s an art to it,” the Sikh whispered, seeing James watching him. He left the boy in his linen, rolled him to one side to move the covers out from under him, then rolled the boy back, pulling both sheets and quilts over him in one seamless motion. Mr. Singh collected a woolly stuffed pig, the size of a lap dog, from the nightstand, and tucked into the bed beside the boy. Robert curled around it and gave a soft snore.

James silently applauded as the Sikh stepped back from the bed. Mr. Singh grinned and clapped James on the shoulder. “Roll them, side to side, and they’ll sleep straight through. Never lift their heads. That’s what wakes them.”

“What will I do without your wisdom?” James whispered as they crept from the room.

“You’ll have a few sleepless nights,” the Sikh replied. “But he is older, so you’ll have fewer than I have had. My daughter is not a good sleeper. I’ve had to learn many tricks to get her to bed and avoid waking her. You’ll have no such trouble with your boy. He’ll be down until morning.”

“Thank you.”

They bowed to each other and parted ways at the door to the parlour. James found Caroline still awake, staring into the fire. He took her empty glass and set it aside before kneeling at her feet. She smiled at him.

“What do the flames show you, sweet?” he asked.

“Nothing more than colours: yellow and orange, red and blue and that funny, bottle-glass green that dances at the heart of fire. I don’t have your visions, James.”

He slid his hands under her skirts, wrapped his fingers around her shapely little ankles, and smoothed his palms up her silk-clad calves. “I wouldn’t wish them on you. They’re confusing and uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.”

Caroline nodded. “What do you see when you look into the fire, James?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the crackling blaze, but saw nothing but burning logs.

“In this moment, madam, I see nothing. You have given me blessed relief. But.” He stroked her calves. “I know what the flames would show me if I were not with you: a ring of redcoats drawing ever nearer.”

“I know it will be soon.” She reached out and stroked her forefinger between his brows. “At least your line is gone for now.”

“Is it?” James wasn’t aware of frowning, but the day had not been without its stresses. “When was it back?”

“When you left your father’s house. You looked very grim.”

“Ah.” James chewed on the tuft of beard below his lip. “Not something I wish to discuss at the moment.” _Not when I’m about to enjoy my lioness_. He ran his hands up to the backs of her knees and stroked the sensitive curve behind each joint. “May I persuade you to accompany me up to your bedroom, madam? I’m most desirous of your particular attentions.”

Caroline made a show of looking around the empty room. “You appear to have my undivided attention, sir.”

James tugged on her stockings. “I’m most desirous of your _amorous_ attentions, madam. In fact, if I don’t have your particular, undivided, amorous, _naked_ attentions very shortly, you will find yourself answering to a very enraged lion.”

Caroline giggled.

Abandoning their word-games, James grabbed her thighs and pulled her out of the chair and over his shoulder. He rose, jostling her until he had her firmly positioned, while she made wholly futile protest, pounding on his back with her little fists. Then he strode out of the parlour and up the stairs to her bedroom.

In her bedroom, he tossed her onto her bed and pinned her down with his hand between her shoulders while he flipped her skirts over her back, pulled her to the edge of the bed and tickled her between her thighs while Caroline squealed and giggled at being so manhandled. He stripped off her boots, bloomers and stockings while he played with her, interspersing the undressing with a few smacks of her delightfully round bottom. _All that cake has gone straight to her bum_ , James thought, rubbing his hands over the hot, pink globes. _Gorgeous_. When he was sure she was wet and wanting, he took her over the edge of the bed, fucking her fast and hard while stroking her little berry until she screamed and shattered under him.

Before he climaxed himself, James withdrew. He gentled Caroline first, with soft strokes of her buttocks and thighs, as he took off her dress but left her in her thin, silk chemise. Then he shed his own clothes and climbed into the bed. Caroline watched him move, her eyes warm and hooded. _My sated lioness_ , James thought. _But there’s much more in store for you before we’re parted. I need a surfeit of memories to sustain me through the Tower_.

“Come, sweet,” he told her, patting his chest. Caroline wormed her way up the bed and straddled him. She reached between them to guide him into her, but James steered her hand away. Instead, her drew her hips forward so her wet valley was pressed along his length and rocked her there, back and forth, enjoying the delicious, liquid heat.

“James,” she murmured. “What would you like? What can I do for you, my wonderful man, on what might be our last night together?”

“It is,” James confirmed. That icy kernel of certainty lay beneath the massive weight of artichoke in his stomach. “But we will only be apart for a night.” He was sure now that the King’s men would not hold him longer, although he could not have said how he knew it. “I trust you will remember that, my linnet.”

She nodded and tightened her thighs so she gripped him firmly. “I will. But I wish it wasn’t even for that short a time.”

“I know. But you’ll bear it with me. I know you will, because you’re my wife-to-be, Caroline, and there is no other woman in this wide world that I have ever considered taking as my wife.”

She coo-ed and bent over him to frame his face in her hands. James smoothed his hands up and down her back, rubbing her fine chemise between his palms and her skin.

“Adore me, sweet, in the way that you do. I want to remember nothing but your kisses, the smell of your skin, the dove-feather brush of your hair.” He gathered her mass of curls in his hands and drew it over her head so it streamed down over his face and shoulders. Tipping back his head, he closed his eyes to drown momently in a waterfall of orange blossoms. “This is what will sustain me while I’m in the hands of the King’s men.”

“Oh, James.” She peppered kisses along his jaw, then took his mouth and melted into him. James felt a shimmering sense of merger, the dissolution of self. Without even entering her, he felt them become one, and when he lifted his hips, sought and found her slick opening, and pushed himself deep, it was more than a union. They caught and held, pin into bit, tenon into mortise, filling spaces inside each other that hadn’t, until that moment, been empty.

She rocked on him, but James slid his hands down and stilled her hips. He needed no motion in this moment. He wanted only to be held deep inside her, immersed in her body. Pleasure bloomed along his nerve endings, flowering at mouth and breast and groin. From each dark blossom, sensation flickered like lightning, now in sheets of blinding white heat, now in sharp jabs of ecstasy that bowed his back. James felt himself pinioned, even though he was the one penetrating her; his being wholly exposed. He reached up and took Caroline’s face in his hands, lifting her head so he could look into her eyes. He knew his own held tears, but he didn’t mind if she saw them. He needed to see the love in her eyes.

She gave it to him, the full, unfettered force of her love. Where in the past it had been a passive giving, the surrender and offering of everything she was to him, this time it was a demand. A hurricane gust of emotion that demanded a response. It rolled him under, submerged him, as she moved on him. James struggled with himself for long moments, trying to hold back. _Hold out_ , he told himself desperately. He gulped air, but filling his lungs brought no relief. This wasn’t the smothering, sinking sensation he so often felt. Caroline’s demand lifted him. Required him to fly. He ceded, finally, thrusting up into her clutching, yielding heat. He held them both at the trembling edge of release for long moments. When she begged, and the tide between them reversed so she was again giving instead of taking, he drove them to a shattering release. In those final seconds, in the splintering of self and soul, in the surrender of his seed, he gave her what she demanded: the promise that he would live for her.

When she collapsed on him, he cradled her on his chest and brushed her hair back from her face so he could nuzzle her temple. “I’ll come back to you, Caroline, I swear. Nothing on this Earth, in Heaven or in Hell, will keep me from you.”

“A most solemn vow from the Devil Delaney,” Caroline murmured.

“Tart,” he responded. “How am I to bare my soul to you when you mock me at every turn?”

She giggled and rubbed her palm across his chest. “Surely there is room in our loving for a little mockery?”

“None at all. A lioness does not mock her mate. Perhaps you’ve fooled me, madam. Perhaps it’s the soul of a jay or magpie that lies breast to breast with me.”

Caroline slid up onto her elbow and looked down at him. Her hair fell in thick curls around her shoulders and she looked every inch a lioness. “Whatever I am, I am yours, James. I will always be yours. And I do demand that you return to me. You do not have my permission to cross the Great River yet, sir. Not without me at your side. Am I clearly understood?”

James reached up and cupped her cheek. “You are, madam.”

“Good.” She lay back down, cuddling into him and James closed his eyes in bliss.

“My wife-to-be, who suits me so well,” he murmured to her. “My lioness. What will the Colonials think of me, bringing such a wild woman to their shores?”

“We’ll never have a chance to find out,” Caroline retorted. “Because you’ll be hung the moment you step foot in the Free Fifteen for calling them the Colonies.”

James chuckled. “Ah, yes. You’ll have to keep reminding me.”

“I shall.” She was silent for a moment, gently stroking his chest. Then she asked, “James, I know you didn’t want to speak of it earlier, but will you tell me now? Why did you look so grim when you left your father’s house? Has there been a report?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, sweet. No report. I spoke to Brace. About the arsenic.”

“I was afraid of that.” She lipped at the side of his throat, firmer than a kiss, but not quite a bite. _Lion kisses_ , James thought. “What did he say? Did he deny it? Is that why you were wearing such a thunderous frown?”

“No, he admitted it.” James considered for a moment, then shrugged. “He blames me.”

Caroline reared back to look into his face. “How does he possibly blame you?”

“He said I came back too late.” James rubbed his hand up and down her back, pressing her close. “Perhaps he has the right of it. I’ve told you I bided my time until peace neared and I could pit Crown against Company.”

“That in no way makes your father’s death your fault.”

“Mmm. I’d had reports of his illness. His madness. But I stayed away until the time was right for my vengeance. So perhaps I am to blame. I told you before, I’m a cruel man. If you needed proof, there it is.” James flattened his hands on her back. “You should run from me, madam.”

“I won’t.”

“You should.”

“Well, I won’t.” She stretched and wound her arms around his neck. “You won’t get rid of me so easily. If you want, I’ll be your conscience. I’ll nip at you every time you do something petty.” She bit his throat to demonstrate and James flinched at her sharp little teeth.

He reached up to touch his neck, and found wetness. “Did you draw blood?” he asked, surprised.

Caroline lifted her head to check. “Oh, it seems I did.” She licked it away. “Your penance, sir. Now you are absolved from all blame when it comes to your father’s death.”

“You bloodthirsty little minx.”

“Hmm.” She nuzzled back into his neck and sucked at the spot she’d bitten.

“Don’t you dare leave a mark, Caroline. What are you doing to me? What of my reputation?”

Caroline giggled. “Sullied and stained, I’m afraid. All will know you’ve been disporting with a lioness. I have a very nice Tudorbethan ruff I can lend you if you need to cover the marks.”

James pushed her off and rolled, trapping her beneath him, then proceeded to tickle her until she was breathless and writhing.

When he was satisfied he’d subdued her, he stroked her tangled curls back from her face and settled onto her warm, giving body. “You won’t leave me to wallow in self-pity, will you?”

“I won’t leave you for any reason,” she said, still a little out of breath. “Not even when you punish me most unfairly.” She laughed at James’s grunt of disagreement. “But certainly not because your old butler laid some of his guilt at your door. Cast that off, James.”

“I’ll have to,” James retorted. “You’ll rip out my throat if I don’t.”

She smiled and wriggled under him until she could nip at his chin. “I’ll resort to any method if it keeps you from falling into despair, my darling man.” She nipped a little more determinedly. “I won’t let you drive me away, and I won’t let you drown in guilt.”

“No more biting, you little fiend.” James stretched his neck to remove his chin from the reach of her sharp teeth, but found that only exposed the underside of his jaw, which she attacked. “I swear I’ll shrug off any mantle of guilt . . . if you will only stop biting me!”

“I’m doing what lionesses do.” She wound her arms around his neck, the better to hold him as she nipped and gnawed at the soft join of neck and shoulder.

“Enough!” James protested when she broke skin again.

She pushed him onto his back with surprising forcefulness, although James offered no resistance. She pounced on his chest and bit his jaw.

“Caroline!”

She settled onto his chest, crossed her hands on his collar and rested her chin on her hands, looking down at him like a sphinx. James rubbed his hands up and down her back, trying to gauge her mood. “What do you mean by attacking me, madam? It’s not your wont,” he asked softly.

She shrugged one shoulder and settled more firmly onto him. “You came back to me today under a cloud. I understand why. It’s painful to settle the past. But that’s done now, and I won’t have you going into the hands of the King’s men with that cloud hanging over you. You’re already facing too much darkness.”

James smiled up at her and ran his hands along her sides. “You are my sunlight as well as my lioness.”

“I’ll be anything you need me to be, James.”

“I need you to be my wife.”

She shifted down against his uninjured side and burrowed her face into his neck. “That I’ll happily be. The announcement was published today, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so. I haven’t seen the Gazette.”

“No, neither have I. Having a family keeps one occupied, doesn’t it?”

James chuckled. “That it does, madam. That it does.”

Caroline snuggled closer, her soft body settling into the curves of his. James smoothed his hand over her soft head, then wrapped one of her long curls around his fingers. “Remember this tomorrow night, sweet. Think of me holding you and know I will be back with you as soon as I can,” he said, as much for his benefit as hers.

She slid her arm across his chest and held him tight. “Think of me holding you, James, and know that I will be waiting for you, and as soon as you are back with me, we will sail away, together.”

He found her hand and twined their fingers together before bringing them to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Sleep, my darling. I plan to wake you early to make another good memory to take with me into the Tower.”

Caroline gave a soft hum. “Good-night, my beloved man, my husband-to-be. Sweet dreams.”

James kissed her forehead and closed his eyes and gave himself over to the dreams he had in her soft bed, which were, indeed, very sweet.

*

James lifted his face to the golden, mid-morning sunlight. A cool breeze, laden with coal smoke and the burnt paper scent of fallen leaves, caressed his freshly-shaven cheeks. _That will always be the smell of London Town for me_ , he thought. _Charred dreams_. The breeze teased around his ears, whispered fragments of words in a man’s deep tones. A woman’s softer, higher voice answered. _James Delaney_. _Powder. Silver. Gold_. The breeze swirled, and carried the swift hoof-beats of galloping horses to him.

He tightened his arm around the woman who stood beside him, bright as an autumn rose in her red riding habit. She lifted a gloved hand and brushed his jaw.

“James?” she asked softly.

“I’ll go soon,” he murmured to her, returning his gaze to the tableau in front of them: the two small boys on horseback and the gangly lad leading them in circles ‘round and ‘round on the autumn-browned grass of Caroline’s park.

“Is it time?”

He nodded. “When the boys are finished their riding lesson, I’ll take my horse. You’re to lead the white cat hunt, don’t forget.”

“It’s Thomas who is to lead the white cat hunt,” Caroline demurred. “Mayn’t I come with you, James? I can ride Old Bess. I promise I’ll leave whenever you bid.”

He turned slightly so he could look down at her. “It’s time, my lioness. Time to be brave for me.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. “Time to bear it with me. I need you to let me go, Caroline. I don’t want to be taken from your house, or in front of you. No more entreaties now. Kiss me and let me go.”

Caroline nodded, the pheasant feathers in her soft velvet cap bobbing, then she went up on her toes and kissed him on each cheek. “Come back to me.”

“I will.” He gathered her close and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Hours, my darling. Count them with me. Each time you hear the church bells chime, know we’re an hour closer to being reunited. Whisper each hour into the air and I will hear you and know there’s an hour less between us.”

She hugged him fiercely. “I shall.”

He released her, turned her by the shoulders and put his arm around her again. Together, they watched the end of the riding lesson. Thomas showed Robert how to dismount, while the Singh’s young son swung himself capably off Caroline’s roan. Beaming, Robert ran to James and Caroline, and while he threw himself into Caroline’s outstretched arms, he looked up at James. James rubbed the boy’s head and returned his smile.

“By the time we reach Philadelphia, you’ll be ready for a pony of your own,” he told the boy, whose smile grew so wide, James worried his cheeks might split. “Now, before you go off white cat hunting, I need you for a moment, Robert.”

Robert drew himself solemnly out of Caroline’s arms. She stood back and when James knelt to bring himself eye-level with the boy, she drifted away from them to take the reins of James’s grey and pat its neck.

James put his gloved hands on Robert’s shoulders. “You remember what I told you yesterday?”

Robert nodded. “When the church bells chime nine, I open the safe, take out the letters and deliver them. Brace and Miss Bow at the house. Atticus at the tavern. Mr. Chichester in his office, and Mr. Cholmondeley with the whores.”

“Good boy. When all the letters are delivered, you’ll let me know.”

“How will I do that, sir?” Robert’s eyes widened.

“You’ll come to the base of the Tower and sing the song we sang together yesterday. Do you remember it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sing it as loud as you can, until the guards chase you away. Then you’ll find a place where you can see the Tower door, hide and wait for me. Can you do that, Robert?”

“Yes, sir. Sing, hide and wait.”

“Good boy. I’ll look forward to seeing your cat. Take care of Mrs. Grant for me tonight. Make sure she has her supper, and read some more of the _Odyssey_ to her before bed.”

“I will, sir. If she’s sad, I’ll let her stroke my cat.”

“That’s very good of you.” James patted the boy’s shoulders. They felt frail under his hands, and he wondered if he would have entrusted any of this to himself, when he’d been Robert’s age.

Shaking off that doubt, James rose, and when Robert threw his arms around James’s waist, he hugged the boy close.

“Don’t be afraid, Robert,” James murmured, so as not to embarrass the boy.

“No, sir.”

“Think of Philadelphia. Riding your pony. Rafting on the Delaware. Carrying the rings when Mrs. Grant and I wed. These are the steps we need to take to get there. That’s all.”

“Yes, sir.” Robert snuffled a little and drew back to wipe his face on his sleeve.

“Good lad.” James gave him another pat, then he stepped away to avoid prolonging the goodbye. He moved to where Caroline stood, kissed her one last time on the forehead, and took the reins from her before mounting.

Knowing he might not leave if he looked at either of them again, he wheeled his horse away. Mr. Singh stood at the back steps of the house, watching his boy. James clicked his tongue at his grey and guided the horse towards the Sikh, who came down the back steps.

James gave him a brief commission. Mr. Singh nodded and patted the horse’s neck, then stepped back so James could apply his heels to its flanks. The horse cantered away as Mr. Singh raised his hand in silent farewell.

James rode to Hampstead, focusing fiercely on the road to ignore the growing, gnawing pain of being separated from his family. He could feel himself frowning; the muscles of his forehead pulled and ached at the ferocity of his expression. He did nothing to relieve the ache, accepting it as penance.

 _All this time_ , he thought, spurring his horse to a gallop. _I’ve had no one, nothing. I’ve clutched at the cold comfort of corpses. The ghost-promise of retribution, of Zilpha returning my love, of winning back my father’s respect. All these years, I’ve fed my rage and despair to that ghoul. It should be bloated and ready to burst. To rain down my judgment on this maggot-eaten revenant of a city. Instead, it’s as hungry and hollow as the day I left London. It devours, and devours, and regurgitates nothing._

As the buildings of the city thinned to the Heath, James found his thoughts pulled back to the house on Harley Street, and the little troupe who were soon to set off in search of a white cat. _Now, after all this time_ , he thought. _Now, when I’m so close. When my shadow has fallen across the Company’s door. When my hand clutches the rod that will break the East India’s back. Now I find the family I’ve always wanted. A woman who truly loves me. A son who needs me to be his father. Now, now, of all times, why now?_

James’s horse, always more aware of where he should be than James himself, slowed. James looked around and realised they’d reached the farm. With Ibbotson’s death and the decampment of the powder-makers, it was abandoned. James smelled rotting cabbages and fallen leaves. He leaned over his horse’s sweating white neck, gave it a pat as he dismounted and led the horse off into the woods. Near the pond, he found tufts of grass poking out of the fallen leaves and tied up his horse where it could chew at them, while he gathered wood and dried leaves for a fire.

He found a little pile of feathers among the fallen leaves, probably a hawk’s kill. He pocketed a few feathers, the quills clicking against the shells already tucked into his coat.

Seating himself on a dry spot with a view of the pond, he piled up the sticks and leaves, then used his striker to light them. Once the dry leaves were burning, he fed the fire some holly and apple twigs. Neither was dry; they gave off the smoke he wanted. He drew the aromatic smoke into his lungs, and when the light breeze blew it away, he took the feathers out of his pocket and brought the smoke back to him, drawing it into his face and over his head, a baptism of smoke, as Adjoa Kufuor had taught him.

The smoke stung his eyes, and he closed them, letting himself sink down into the hazy world of visions and preternatural knowledge that always surrounded him, peered over his shoulder, as close as his own shadow.

He heard the breeze first, whispering to him, as it had when he’d watched the riding lesson. The voices were clearer now. Strange. Helga. The whore, Pearl. _She went to Company instead of Crown_ , James thought. _It doesn’t matter_. He waited, and listened, and the breeze brought him the beating of hooves. Still far off. _Still time_ , he thought. _I could perhaps have stayed with Caroline and Robert a little longer_. He shook away that thought. _She is with me._ They _are with me, and soon I will be back with them. These are the steps I need to take, to finish my business and return to them, free of my past_.

He reached again into his pocket and brought out a closed clamshell. Thumbing it open, he took out a pinch of yellow ochre and sprinkled it on top of the smouldering fire.

The smell of clay, of river mud, and of mother’s milk, filled James’s head. His horse stirred, nickering. James let the vision wash over him.

His mother, standing waist-deep in water. Instead of the crow dress, she wore her wedding clothes: deerskin pieced and sewn into a good luck pattern, dyed with precious copper-earth. The blue earth had been rubbed into her long, black plaits as well and James was shaken by how regal and proud she looked, so different from the hunched, howling crow woman.

His vision shifted and showed him his father. He, too, was wearing his wedding clothes: a formal suit with tails. _Is that what he wore?_ James wondered. _Did he honour her on their wedding day? Did she find him handsome? Did she go willingly into his arms?_

His father turned from the tangle of bracken in which he stood to stare back at James. Although he wore his wedding suit, he was not the young man he’d been when he’d wed. _A year older than I am now_ , James realised. _If Caroline and I marry in Philadelphia at Easter as we’ve planned, I will be the same age as my father when he wed my mother_. The thought, which would have repulsed James before, now carried no sting.

James looked more closely at his father and saw that despite his fine clothes, he looked old, beaten, haggard: his belly bloated by poison and his limbs wasted. Horace took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak.

Instead of words, emotions flooded from the old man in a yellow stream, first battering James, then buoying him as he bobbed in the river of his father’s feelings.

 _My boy. My boy who reminds me so much of Her. Of Salish. My moon princess. My beautiful one. My boy. So angry. Raging at the sun and stars. My boy who wants only what he cannot have. My boy who needs what I cannot give. My boy_ —

“James!”

Godfrey’s voice tore through James’s head. It ripped his vision at the seams, spilling out dirt in a yellow tide. His mother shrieked. His father yelled his name.

James opened his eyes.

The pond rippled, as though a fish had jumped.

“James, you are betrayed!” Godfrey crouched in the leaves beside him. “Two women, came to Leadenhall—”

James blinked and rolled his eyes, smarting from the smoke. “I know,” he said quietly, to still the other man’s panic. “Where are they now?”

“Safe house. I have the address.” Godfrey fumbled inside his coat for a piece of foolscap.

“I have a use for you,” James told him. “There’s someone I need you to see.”

Godfrey huffed but made no protest when James drew him to his horse. He mounted, pulled Godfrey up beside him, and spurred the horse back across the heath.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of torture and (non-explicit) references to rape. Please do not read further if these subjects disturb you.

They rode to the molly house and found Chichester in Godfrey’s rooms, examining a book full of illustrations that made James raise an eyebrow. The King’s Commissioner was early; the message James had sent him through Mr. Singh was to be at the molly house for dinner. It was only mid-afternoon.

 _Perhaps King’s Commissioners eat early_ , James thought.

He listened to Godfrey waiver and begin to fall apart under Chichester’s questioning, even though James had told him exactly what was required on the way back from Hampstead.

“Mr. Chichester, would you please allow me a few moments alone?” James asked the King’s Commissioner, interceding when it looked like Godfrey would crumble.

Chichester gave him a hard stare, but rose and took himself out into the hallway.

James sank down onto the bed beside his old school-mate. He looked into Godfrey’s face, trying to find the pink-cheeked, sensitive schoolboy he’d known. But he could only find the drawn, frightened man. With a silent apology to Caroline, he put his gloved hand on Godfrey’s knee. “Now listen here, Godders. I’m going to sail away, and all of those who have use to me will sail along with me. And on my ship, there will be no rules, and there will be no judgment.” James leaned in, dropping his voice to speak close to Godfrey’s ear. “We’re sailing to a new world, and that is the plan—”

Godfrey took the thumb he’d been biting out of his mouth to say, “James, you are a fool. They’re going to hang you.”

“No. No, their case will flounder. They can’t.” James leaned in closer, praying Caroline never learned of this moment. He murmured into Godfrey’s ear, close enough for his breath to warm Godfrey’s skin. “Now we can make this happen. You and me. And the best of it? You will never have to testify. My ship will sail long before the commission even sits.” James saw Godfrey’s eyes drop to his lips. Godfrey’s hand, pale as a cave spider, crawled down his leg toward James’s. James lifted his hand and engulfed Godfrey’s, feeling the chill of the other man’s skin even though his leather glove. “All you have to do is make believe to this man here. Now you can do that, can’t you? Right?” A tear spilled and dripped onto Godfrey’s wool-covered thigh. James patted his hand. “Right.”

Godfrey nodded and James escaped, having reached the limit of his own ability to pretend. He strode out of Godfrey’s cloying boudoir and into the hallway where Chichester stood, as out of place as if he’d been in the waiting room of Almack’s.

“We’re good,” James told the King’s Commissioner. “Mr. Godfrey has decided he will do the honourable thing. His testimony will be with you within the week.”

“Signed?” Chichester asked.

“And sealed,” James confirmed.

“And if required, he will stand up in court?”

James took a breath to reply, but Godfrey unexpectedly piped up, “Let the good Lord be my witness, I will yell out the truth to the four winds.” Godfrey kept his eyes down as he lied, and James wondered if he did the same with the men he took into his bedchamber.

James shook the thought out of his head. _I owe him a place on my ship for that declaration alone._

Chichester stepped forward and shook Godfrey’s hand. “Until that happy resolution, I bid you good day.”

James watched the King’s Commissioner go before herding Godfrey back into his chamber. “Pack,” he told Godfrey.

“What?”

“Pack. Everything you care to take with you. Urgently.” James sank down into a chair, finding it neither as sturdy nor as comfortable as Caroline’s wing chairs.

Godfrey grabbed a valise from behind a painted screen and began throwing silks and lace into it. “I cannot pack up my entire life in five minutes!”

“You can pack it up or you can lose it,” James responded pragmatically.

Godfrey rummaged around under the bed. “This is ridiculous! What about you?”

“I’m being followed,” James said. Godfrey stopped his haphazard packing and glanced about over his shoulder as though James’s pursuers were about to burst through the window. “The Crown has soldiers searching for me everywhere. So it ends here.”

“Here? When?” Godfrey demanded.

James lifted his hands. ”I don’t know.”

Godfrey swore and threw more flounced and ruffled cloth into the valise. “You’re just going to sit?”

“What’s the use in hiding? I’ve told you where this ends.”

“Yes, they’re going to hang you!”

“No, no, no.” James rolled his eyes at Godfrey and pulled a piece of folded foolscap from his coat pocket. “Go to this address. There will be a man with markings on his face to meet you. He’ll take you to my friend, Atticus. Tell my friend, Atticus, where Helga is. Write your account. He will secure it and keep you safe.”

“Safe,” Godfrey spat, grabbing the direction before rushing off to the other side of the room to grab more frills and furbelows. “Safe!”

James grunted, knowing as well as Godfrey that safety was an illusion. “When everything is ready I will send for you.”

Godfrey rounded on him furiously. “When?”

“Soon.” James rose and ushered Godfrey out into the street so he could hail a hackney.

In the busy street, James lifted his face to the wind and caught the now-familiar beat of hooves. _Closer_ , he thought. _Not long now_.

Turning his back on Godfrey’s tearful farewell, James returned to the main room of the molly house and poured himself a glass of gin. He lifted it in a silent toast before taking a large mouthful of the spirit. _Another step_. Then he turned to the five, white-painted, befrocked mollies disporting themselves around the room.

“Ladies,” he announced. “You might want to leave this place. There are soldiers coming.”

Tittering answered his announcement, and open derision from one of the mollies. “Soldiers? Then surely we should stay!”

James confronted the creature, giving it the full force of his stare. “Right. I suggest that you leave very quickly and very, very quietly.” He watched the mockery slide off the molly’s face like melting wax. “Or you can stay. For the extreme violence that is coming your way. Your choice.”

The molly rounded up his fellows and ushered them out.

James grunted in approval. He took a seat on the still-warm, velvet-cushioned bench. There was a deck of cards on the table, which he picked up and began to shuffle to pass the time while he waited for the King’s men to arrive.

He did not have long to wait.

*

He’d been right in thinking the King’s men would resort to violence. His head spun and his ears rang from their blows as they led him through the Tower to a cell. He hadn’t expected them to strip him and continue to beat him once he was down, defenceless and naked in the dirty straw. But he’d been down, defenceless and naked before, so he simply curled into a ball to protect his most vulnerable parts and let them rain their blows down on his back and buttocks. When they tired of the sport, they threw a black smock at him and left him to bleed, and ache, on the cold stone.

There was a high window in the wall of the cell, and through it, James watched the daylight fade to dusk. He heard the bells of St. George’s chime four, then five, then six. At each hour, he listened. There was no whisper of air in the cell, but somehow a breeze brought Caroline’s voice to him. She counted the chimes, _one-two-three-four_ , _one-two-three-four-five_ , _one-two-three-four-five-six_. After each count, she spoke his name, soft and sweet, stretching out the ‘a,’ the way she did when they made love. _An hour closer to you, Caroline_ , he thought. Then he put all thought from his mind. There was no point in thinking, in feeling, while in enemy hands. James had learned that lesson long ago. He let himself simply exist, focusing on his breathing, the skittering of rats in the walls, the slow fading of the light through the window.

Before the bells chimed seven, they came for him. He’d shrugged on the smock they’d left for him, rather than lie naked on the cold stone. To the smock, they added a hood, which, although it had no holes, was of such a coarse weave that James could see through it as though through a veil. He let the soldiers drag him down a long hall and a flight of stairs, into a room whose purpose was made clear by the table beside the chair to which they strapped him, laid not with china and crystal, but with a line of sharp and unpleasant-looking implements.

James supposed the knives and scrapers, pinchers and pliers were there to frighten him. But James knew well that a man needed nothing more than his hands to inflict unbearable pain on another. _Perhaps they just don’t like getting their hands dirty_ , James thought. _Englishmen, pretending to be civilized. Refusing to acknowledge the savage heart that beats in each man’s breast_.

“Mr. Delaney,” a shadowed figure said, drawing James’s attention to him. The man moved closer, through the dim light of the chamber which shone on his balding forehead and the golden fleece emblem that hung ‘round his neck. _Solomon Coop_ , James thought, recognising the man from the descriptions he’d received. _The King’s Private Secretary, spymaster and, evidently, torturer_. “His Majesty seeks information. I really have no taste for this, so perhaps we can conduct this business like gentlemen.” The man drew close enough for James to see the cold blue of his eyes. “They will allow no easy escape to death.”

James said nothing, concentrating on his breathing.

The man moved away, pacing around the chamber, explaining the details of the torture they had planned for James. James stopped listening to the man’s prattle. He knew what the King’s man wanted, and what he was going to do to try to get it.

Coop stopped in front of James and leaned close. “The Americans. The places you met. Code names. Signals. The location of the powder you gave them.” Coop straightened. “Now if you can give me all that, and what you tell us is corroborated, then these people won’t be needed. And you will await trial in the same cell that Thomas Moore occupied, with not an unpleasant view of the River Thames. So?”

 _I know only one name_ , James thought. _Stuart Strange. That is the only name I will give you. Now or ever_.

“I will give you all the information that you request,” James replied, keeping his tone light and pleasant, as though they were sitting over dinner instead of in a cell in the Tower of London. “But in return, I will need a single meeting with Sir Stuart Strange of the East India Company. Here, in a cell, and in private.”

Coop gave an asthmatic chuckle.

“News of my arrest will already be spreading. Those people you seek, they will already be fleeing London. You allow me my meeting with Stuart Strange and perhaps, perhaps you will catch your Americans before they reach the ports.”

Coop stopped wheezing and turned to the masked torturer, who picked up an implement that looked like a giant cheese grater and approached James.

James took a deep breath, steeled himself, and waited.

As before, he did not have long to wait.

*

When cutting, burning, pinching and striking did no good, they tried drowning him. The two soldiers strapped him to a table and held him down while the torturer, Mr. Arrow by name, poured bucket after bucket of water into his face.

James knew the feeling of drowning well. He’d experienced it once, and dreamed it thousands of times. He let his body’s natural inclinations take over: alternately spitting and swallowing. When he’d swallowed all he could stomach, he retched, vomiting what felt like gallons back through the hood one of the soldiers held tight over his face. He felt another pair of hands on him then: the doctor, feeling for his pulse.

“Give us the Americans and then we’ll stop,” Coop said, from somewhere far enough away not to get spattered.

James said nothing, merely waited. Mr. Arrow gave him a moment, then began pouring the water into his face again.

James floundered, sinking into green water. He reached for a breath, but there was only water. He spit, convulsed, and spit again. Water rushed up his nose, down his throat, into his lungs. James choked and spat, and this time the hood was whipped off.

“What did you say, Mr. Delaney?” Coop demanded.

James blinked, trying to focus. “Stuart Strange,” he gasped.

The hood was pulled tight over his face, and the water poured down again.

*

The bells of St. George’s chimed ten times. James heard Caroline’s voice counting and clung to that whisper of sound. He’d heard nothing but his own gasping and retching for the last hour. Coop had stopped questioning him. James wasn’t sure the King’s Private Secretary was even in the room anymore. There was only water, and the terrible burning in his throat and lungs and stomach, and still more water.

Now there was this sound. A slow count to ten, and his name. “Jaaames.”

He wrapped his arms tight around that sound. Let it haul him up from under the green water. He remembered how Caroline had felt in his arms. The orange-blossom smell of her hair and how he’d taken that deep, citrus-scented breath that even now sat in the bottom of his lungs, somehow sustaining him against the waterfall cascading up his nose and mouth.

He retched, spitting out a fountain of water, and felt the doctor’s cool hand on his throat again.

“Enough,” said a voice that wasn’t Coop’s. “Try something else. This isn’t working.”

The water stopped, and James lay still, focusing again on his breathing, which was torturous now, his lungs and throat as abraded as his skinned legs. _In, out_ , he told himself. _In, out_. The same way he’d kept breathing while he floated in the blood-warm water off Africa, while the sharks bumped his legs. The same way he’d kept breathing while his captors beat and cut and raped him. The same way he’d kept breathing while the _Asante_ witch-women pressed the burning brand into his back, and their warriors locked manacles around his neck and wrists. _In, out. In, out_. Through all of it, he’d kept breathing, and he knew that was all he ever had to do.

The soldiers unstrapped him, and carried him, unresisting, to another cell. There, they dropped him into a tank of cold water. James expected to sink, but the water was shallow, lapping against his chest and chin. One soldier pulled away the hood and strapped a metal mask over his face, while another lowered a grate to rest on his chest and legs, trapping him flat against the bottom of the tank. James waited for them to flood the tank and drown him.

Coop’s voice came from above him. “We’re aware you have a certain _capacity_ for pain. Which is why we’ve invited Doctor Ling. His unearthly potions alter perceptions.”

If he’d had the strength, James would have chuckled. _My perceptions are altered enough without any assistance_ , he thought. But again he said nothing, focused on his breathing, and waited.

With a metallic click, something was inserted into the mask, a tube that forced its way past James’s lips. It stopped just past his teeth, though, not choking him, although the liquid that trickled down the tube a moment later did. But once the bitter, burning liquid passed his palate, he found it no more or less painful than the water he’d been forced to inhale for hours.

James let his head sink back into the water; the tube in his mouth allowing him to breathe without difficulty even though his head was now submerged. He listened to the slow, regular working of his lungs. The bells chimed again, eleven. He drifted through memories. The African sun beating down on his face. The slough of the wind through the _bête_ trees. That sound stretched into Caroline’s soft snore, rose to the angry buzz of a bee, the shriek of the crow woman, the screams of the doomed, drowning slaves.

The bells chimed twelve. Caroline’s voice counted, and kept counting. At a hundred, James lost count and felt himself unravel.

He rose out of the tank, shedding mask and robe. He picked up the spear he’d carved himself from teak and the splintery slate the Africans used for their weapons. He walked through the _bête_ trees, towards the crash and roar of battle. He lifted his spear and charged into a sea of black bodies, battering each other with metal, wood and stone, and when those failed, with flesh. He rammed his fist into a black face, a face he’d last seen in chains, sinking beneath the waves. He felt bones break, both against and in his hand. He sank his spear deep into a black chest, and felt the slap to eye and mind as bright red blood and angry pink flesh boiled out of the wound.

The bodies fell, faded, and James moved alone through a deep thicket, whose trees wavered between the straight, ghostly beeches of England and Lake Volta’s ribbed, dark teak forests. He listened closely, for the small sounds of the men and women he hunted. Harsh, panicked breathing. The crunch of twigs when they moved incautiously. They were villagers, soft and mild, unlike their warrior neighbours. James wanted them for his own, growing string of slaves. He gripped his spear in one hand and clenched his other, grinding together the broken bones of his knuckles. There was no pain, and the sky through the trees above him shaded to the sickly yellow of his visions.

Ahead, in a clearing, from an oak tree that had never felt the touch of the African sun, hung a metal cage. James lifted his spear as he approached it, but the thing inside was long dead. A chained skeleton of bones and feathers. A crow-thing, its flesh picked clean by its smaller cousins. James felt himself lifted, his legs kicking uselessly, until he took the thing’s place and hung from the tree’s snaking branch. He heard the clang of metal on metal and looked up, to see his own face peering back at him through the wooden grating.

“Hands down!” he screamed at himself.

He dropped his hands and hung limp in the chains.

Warmth wrapped around him. Slender arms crossed his chest, held him with surprising strength. “Here,” Caroline whispered in his ear. “Here I am. _One, James_. It is one. I am here.”

He nodded and felt the water slosh around his head before he sank back into nightmare.

Her warmth on his back turned fierce, the rake of the African sun over his pale skin. He felt his skin tighten and crack, splitting like dried mud, revealing the tender pink flesh beneath. Adjoa Kufuor’s knotted old hand moved over his back, spreading wet clay over his broken, blistered flesh. The clay had barely flaked off before the _Asante_ raided Adjoa Kufuor’s village, James remembered. He stood alone on an empty plain, watching the village burn. Listening to the weeping of the women as they were led away in chains. Finally, the chain leading to his own neck grew taut and dragged him away at the end of the long line of slaves.

He plodded along, through the dust whipped up by a hundred marching feet, until his feet splashed through water. The water was as churned and brown as the dust, and the chain dragging James forward disappeared into it. Wearily, helplessly, he followed, down into the murky, muddy depths. The water caressed him, soothed his blisters, trickled over his skin like rain down the knotty bark of a tree. As he sank, the water’s touch became firmer, more slippery, strands slithering across his legs and back and arms. Foully sensuous, it wormed its way along his nerve-endings, rousing him, until James felt himself strain against his loincloth. The water wound around him, darkening, separating into tentacles that grasped him and pulled him ever deeper.

Zilpha plunged into the water in front of him. Her pale face peered out of the dark cloud of her hair. James reached for her, but the chain around his neck pulled him along, further, deeper. Her hair swirled over him, waving like kelp, like eels. They pressed against him, seeking entrance into the closed spaces of his body. His nostrils, his mouth, his anus. James yielded, knowing the futility of resistance while enchained, and felt her invade him.

 _Sister_ , he thought. _We are done_.

The eels slithered down, down into his bones.

He broke the surface of the water, and plodded up the far bank of the river. He stood, looking back for a moment. Through a heavy mist, he could see figures on the far shore. A lithesome woman with pale gold hair. A small boy, who sat in her lap, reading from a tattered book. A brown man in a turban who solemnly offered a bowl of milk to a small, white kitten playing at their feet.

The woman looked up. Her blue eyes, the colour a shock after a decade where only brown and black eyes looked back at him, met his. He couldn’t remember her name.

 _I do not give you permission to cross the Great River, James,_ she said, speaking to him without words _._

James nodded and strained back towards her, trying to obey her command. But the chain pulled him onwards, away from the riverbank and into the deep forests of Lake Volta.

He stumbled onward, pulled by the chain, the end forever disappearing into the cloud of dust in front of him so James saw no one, neither captors nor fellow slaves, until he stumbled into the _Asante_ camp, into a ring of black bodies.

They forced him down into the dust. Held him while they shoved things inside his white flesh. Needles and ink, knives and cocks. James screamed at the violations, spat blood, wept. Over the stink of blood and semen rose the burning of meat. The reeking, roasting copper of charred human flesh. James smelled it rising from the Asante’s cooking fires, from his own back. He crunched the crisp meat between his teeth, sucked the juices down into his red-raw throat. He heard the spit and sizzle of burning skin. Saw the smoke wisp over his shoulders and off into the tree canopy. He strained against the hands holding him, ground his face into the powdery dirt until his face was as caked as his mother's when she wore her war-paint. He writhed and gulped dust and screamed.

 _I do not give you permission to cross the Great River, James. Not without me at your side._ The nameless woman spoke again into his head.

James reared and bucked and thrashed against the hands holding him down, trying desperately to obey her command.

Suddenly freed, he sat back, heavily, against a hay cart.

A man rose over him, black against the yellow sky, but his bald head gleamed white. The hand he raised gripped a branch, white-knuckled. He brought the branch down on James’s head.

_Two, James._

The nameless woman’s voice again, only this time, her name came to him. _Caroline_. She spoke softly, but he could hear her even over the pounding in his skull. Blood ran into his eyes, poured out of the hole in his side. Fish-hooks snagged his skin, bit deep. Eels wriggled under his flesh, slithering along his bones. The hooks reached into him and snagged the eels through mouth and eye. Slowly, with a sense of suction, as he’d once sucked the marrow out of split and blackened human bones, the hooks drew the eels out of him at nostril, mouth and anus.

 _Three, James_. Her voice was growing louder. He could hear her even over his own screams, the cawing of crows, the shrieks of the eels. Her voice bubbled through water, as his mother plunged him under and held him down.

 _Four, James. Come back to me_. Her voice rang over harsh panting, the slapping of skin against skin. A man, rearing behind him, heavy hands holding him down as much as the chains on his throat and wrists and ankles. Zilpha, straining backwards, thrown across the crumbling black earth by the force of the man thrusting over her. Her noises of confusion, pain and distress echoed his own.

 _Five, James_. The man pounding into his sister tore off an animal mask, glared at James with wild-beast eyes in a pulpy, English face. _Thorne Geary. You're dead_ , James thought. The man's flesh boiled, collapsed, rotting away from his skull into a mass of maggots. James picked up a handful of the maggoty meat and threw it into a thicket of _bête_ trees, at the sickly yellow sky peeping through their branches.

 _Six, James. It’s six. It’s dawn. The night’s over. The sun’s rising_.

James lifted his eyes and looked upward at the play of sunlight through the waves. The false colours he himself had hoisted fluttered down to him from the sinking ship's broken mast. The fallen flag wrapped him in canvas like a sailor’s shroud.

James closed his eyes and lay still, listening to the sound of his breathing and Caroline’s soft voice.

“ _When the stars threw down their spears,_  
_And watered heaven with their tears,_  
_Did he smile his work to see?_  
_Did he who made the lamb make thee?”_

 _Yes_ , James thought. _We all come from the same Maker. We all have the same purpose. All I have to do is survive. Breathe. In, out_.

“Mr. Delaney,” Coop’s voice cut across James’s thoughts. “Do you have anything to say to me?” A hand hauled his head up. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“Stuart Strange,” James wheezed around the metal pipe in his mouth.

The hand released him and he sank back into the cold water to wait.

He did not have long.


	32. Chapter 32

The cell did, indeed, have a pleasant view of the Thames.

James turned his back on the mullioned window and slowly pushed the table and chair around until they faced the door. He wanted his battered, unbroken face to be the first thing Strange saw when he entered the cell. He sat heavily on one of the chairs, spreading his thighs on the wooden seat so his wounds didn’t rub each other. The chains around his ankles clanked. He picked up the quill the soldiers had left at his request, dipped it into the pot of ink they’d set out for him, took the first piece of parchment off the pile and began to write. The blood on his hands smeared across the foolscap; he wrote over it, spidery lines of ink cutting through the pale red wash.

Before he finished the second sheet, he heard the tread of boots in the corridor. He didn’t lift his head until Strange was ushered through the door of the cell.

“My God, look at you,” Strange said. “Well, your plan worked. You in a cell, me on a hook. I’m here. What do you want?”

James gave Strange a level stare. “I have a use for you.”

He let Strange pace, his cane tapping on the rough slate floor. James watched him, noting the white stubble on the man’s cheeks, the purple bags beneath his eyes. _Maybe he got as little sleep as I did_ , James thought wryly.

Strange glared back at him, eyes scrabbling over James’s face, his hunched shoulders, his bruised and bloodied hands. Eyes the odd light brown of caramel – _or dog shit_ , James thought, remembering the whispers of his fellows at Woolwich, _Dog Shit Strange_ – lingered on his wounds as though the daggers of his gaze could pry them wider, force out the rest of James’s lifeblood, until he was no longer a prickly thorn in the East India’s side.

James let the silence stretch, although Coop had warned him he had no more than an hour for this interview. He wanted Strange to crack first.

Finally, the old man did. “In those days,” Strange said, tapping his cane on the slate to emphasise each word. “I always chose boys who had the shadow of death on them. I thought they would be less likely to return. Of course, they do return, as ghosts. Now, I’m older and—“

“How many boys?” James rasped. “How many Company boys did you send to crew your private ships?”

 _How many of us did you send off to our deaths?_ James wondered.

“Please don’t believe that I will say anything to confirm or deny any action past, present or future, in any regard whatsoever to this business.”

Bored with the man’s pedantry, James went back to his writing.

Strange moved into the chair James had left on the other side of the table.

“The point is, you see,” Strange said, sitting. “You didn’t die, did you? Not even over there, where everyone dies.”

“No,” James agreed, looking across at the man. The hazy daylight through the windows dimmed as clouds passed over the sun, and only the candle the soldiers had left on the table illuminated Strange’s deeply lined features. “No, I did not. I was rescued, by an African. Who saved me, and he cured me, and he showed me to myself. The things I did in Africa make your transactions look paltry.” James recalled his nightmares of the previous hours, many of which were more memory than drug or dream. “I witnessed and participated in darkness which you cannot conceive.”

Strange nodded as though James’s sins were well known to him. “And will you be including that in your account to the Royal Commission?”

“No, luckily I’m not being tried for that today.”

Strange grabbed the bottle of hock the soldiers had left for him, uncorked it and took a sniff. He chuckled, a dyspeptic gurgle that made James’s empty, abused stomach roil, before taking a deep swig.

 _You always were too fond of the bottle_ , James thought. _Perhaps that’s why you don’t remember me, or any of the other boys you sent to their deaths_.

“They serve good hock to traitors,” Strange said.

“Perhaps you will be served the same,” James retorted. He was growing impatient with Strange’s petty manoeuvrings. The position of the light on the floor told him it was near eight, although he hadn’t heard the church bells chime. _Perhaps I can’t hear them on this side of the Tower_ , James thought. Soon Robert would be opening the safe and delivering his letters. James needed this interview to be over and Strange on his way by then. _There’s much to do, and you’re wasting my time, old man_.

Strange set the bottle back on the table with a click and glared at him. James ignored him and continued writing, although impatience gnawed at him like hyenas chewing on the limbs of the fallen after a battle.

“I understand you asked poor, sweet Godfrey to write an account, too,” Strange said, and James was amused to hear the bitterness of betrayal in the man’s voice.

James grunted in agreement.

“I assume you want to make some sort of a deal.”

James lifted his head and gave the man a long, cold stare. _There will be no deal for you. Only disgrace and death_.

He pushed the first piece of paper he’d written, now folded into neat thirds, across the table.

Strange picked up the missive, unfolded it and read, his eyes flicking from the paper to James’s face. He shook his head. “Is this the extent of your ambition?”

 _My ambition is the Company’s fall, and your humiliation and death, but that is not apparent from the few words written on that paper_. The words were little more than the announcement James wanted printed in the Gazette and read out in the House of Lords, and directions as to the release of the whores.

“You want India for yourself?” Strange sneered.

_Let him think that. Let everyone think that. It doesn’t matter._

James nodded. “It is in return for my silence.”

“You’ll never be able to hold it.”

“Then the temporary loss should not matter to you,” James retorted.

“And Godfrey? What of his account?”

“One account. Given to a blackamoor temporarily endowed with the King’s seal. Surely that does not trouble Sir Stuart Strange, Chairman of the Honourable East India Company across the surface of the entire Earth,” James said, echoing Pettifer’s introduction of Strange at their previous meeting.

“Of course not,” Strange snapped.

 _Good, I was counting on your arrogance_ , James thought. _Solomon Coop will, of course, make sure that one account becomes two, or five, or a hundred. As many as it takes to see you hang_.

“No,” Strange said, slapping the paper down on the table. “I can’t deliver that.”

“Then you better get used to the taste.” James tapped his pen against the hock bottle.

Strange’s face worked silently, his pale tongue flicking out to wet his lips. _Like a sand viper_ , James thought, letting the man stew. _I’ve already felt your bite, and suffered your poison. You can do nothing more to me_.

“I’ve been working upon this here,” James said, tapping the paper before him, on which he’d rewritten part of the sealed account now sitting on his desk at Chamber House, with a fair copy in the hands of Caroline’s solicitor. _Or, more likely, sitting on Strange’s desk at Leadenhall_ , James thought. “Perhaps you remember? ‘When the _Cornwallis_ left Cabinda, renamed the _Influence_ , it was I, James Delaney, who stowed the Jack and Company flags. The East India ship, renamed, laden with illegal slaves, and flying the Stars and Stripes, at the direct command of Sir Stuart Strange’ . . .” James trailed off and let his words sink in. He watched Strange’s pale brown eyes dart right and left, but the man made no reply. “That’s treason,” James elaborated.

Strange shook his head, jowls wagging. “One living witness.”

“Two,” James replied. “For twelve years, Godfrey, sweet Godfrey, who was my fag at Woolwich.” James paused to let Strange process that, and smiled at the old man’s flinch. “Godfrey, unobtrusive, attentive Godfrey, has heard and written down everything you’ve said under a raised hand.” James lifted his own hand and waggled his bloodied fingers. “How you concealed your ownership of this vessel, and its cargo, by committing treason.” _And how many others will turn on you, when given the chance?_ But he left those words unsaid, not wanting to frighten off his prey when he was so close to sinking his spear into its breast. “Do you think he didn’t know what ship I sailed on, when I left Woolwich? Do you think he didn’t know what became of it?”

Strange’s mouth worked, the cracks around his dry lips puckering. James lowered his head and smiled to himself. He signed his name to the bottom of the page he’d been writing, folded it and pushed it across the table at Strange. “Keep it. I remember it all.”

Strange stared at him, eyes as flat and dead as a shark’s.

“The deadline for an emergency announcement in today’s Gazette is in an hour. I trust the East India can afford the extra fee,” James said, returning the old man’s stare. Strange took several deep breaths and looked away. “You may wish to hurry.”

Strange snatched up the papers on the table, but as he rose, he gave James a rictus of a smile. _Both poisonous and smug_ , James thought.

James sat back in the chair and watched the old man retreat.

The soldiers returned as St. George’s bells were striking nine. They moved him to the rough cot in the corner, and bagged his head in a clean, black hood. James scratched at the abrasions on his left wrist until fresh blood ran over his hand and dripped onto the floor. When he heard the tramp of soldiers’ boots, he began chanting in _Twi_.

One of them grabbed his head and peeled back the hood. “Tell them I’m not ready,” James raved. “I need to see a doctor.” _And to buy more time while Robert delivers those letters and the recipients act on the contents_.

The soldier cuffed him to the floor. James curled there, lying in his own blood. He worked saliva to a foam in the back of his mouth and forced it out through his teeth to bubble down his cheek. The soldier took a hasty step back, then stomped out of the room.

When the soldier returned, many minutes later, the doctor accompanied him. James recognised the man from the smell of old blood and opium that hung heavy in the man’s clothes. James liked the doctor’s cool, competent hands. He lay still on the cot and let the doctor treat him, not flinching when the man drained and stitched the contusion that was beginning to affect the sight in his left eye. He rested, and gathered his strength, while the man wrapped bandages around the wounds on his wrists, before turning to his legs.

His mind, stretched out of shape by the previous hours, struggled to return to its previous paths. _Steps, leading upward_ , he remembered. _A ship that sits at the top of the stair, white sails billowing. A warm breeze on my cheeks. The brush of skin, Caroline’s kisses_. He grabbed that thought and held on tight. _Caroline. My wife-to-be. My nameless angel who counted the hours with me. Who bore it with and for me_.

As he clung to his memories of her, the soft weight of her in his arms, her sweet-citrus smell, the gripping wet heat of her cunny, the fathomless love in her eyes, he heard a boy’s high voice, ringing over the clatter of the street.

“Show me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin’s.”

James opened his eyes at the sound. _Robert_.

“When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.”

James grunted. “I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not,” the doctor objected. “I’m not finished.”

“I’m ready,” James insisted.

The doctor threw up his hands and beckoned the soldiers.

They tugged the hood back over his head, and dragged him through corridors and down stairs. _Not back to the torture chambers_ , James thought. _We will sit somewhere more civilised while Coop and his lawyers try to dissect me_.

He was manhandled into a chair, and the soldier whipped off his hood. James met the frozen, glittering gaze of Solomon Coop first. He blinked, his eyes dilated from the darkness under the hood, from the drugs they’d fed him. His gaze drifted, then caught on a pair of cool, pale blue eyes.

James blinked again, unable to reconcile those eyes, here, in this place. _Caroline, my Caroline, what are you doing here?_

Two lawyers framed Caroline like black book-ends. She sat between them, perched on a wooden chair, vivid in her emerald green pelisse and matching bonnet, the only bright colours in the otherwise dim room. She held James’s gaze steadily and gave him a tiny smile.

Coop slapped a piece of parchment across the table at the bewigged and silk-robed barrister sitting on Caroline’s right. “Your writ, Mr. Webster. We have produced the body.” He glared at James. “Please confirm that you are James Keziah Delaney of Chamber House, Wapping Wall, London.”

James didn’t answer, merely glanced at the men arrayed across from him, all severe, intent and black-suited, until his gaze rested again on Caroline. She held his eyes and James felt the warm blanket of her love wrap tight around him. _Here. I’m here_ , her eyes told him. _I’ve been here all along. You’re not alone._

“The body appears somewhat worse for the wear, Mr. Coop,” Caroline’s silk said, in stentorian tones. James’s eyes flicked to him, then returned to Caroline.

“He did not plea,” Coop snapped.

“Ah, well, as I said before, there is an unfortunate irregularity in this particular matter. As Lieutenant Delaney has not been formally charged, he cannot, under law, enter any plea, and the use of _strong measures_ to force a plea is not, sir, legal under the Treason Act of 1695. In the matter of the Crown verses—”

“Yes, yes,” Coop said, impatiently. “I heard you before.”

“But perhaps you did not understand me, sir,” Caroline’s silk persisted. “Mr. Delaney is a gentleman. His father was a Captain. He still holds the rank of Lieutenant. Although he lacks the rights of peerage, any accusation against him must be presented in the House of Commons, or if the accusation is made in connection with his commission, in the Courts of Admiralty, where he may be properly court-martialled. Further, and more distressingly irregular, I am instructed he is accused by two females of, well, given our delicate company, shall I say, _ill-repute_ —”

“That’s _why_ he hasn’t been formally charged,” Coop responded. James could almost hear the man’s teeth grinding together.

“Yes, I do understand that, sir. Therein lieth the problem. These females are of no fixed address. Their whereabouts, I am instructed, are currently unknown. They have disappeared, sir, as night-flowers are wont to do in the daylight. _Sans_ these witnesses, there is no direct allegation against Lieutenant Delaney except the one made by the directors of the Honourable East India Company. You will appreciate, sir, that without the testimony of the two prosti—, er, ladies of ill-repute, this is nothing but the rankest hearsay—”

“I am fully aware!” Coop snapped. “However, Mr. Delaney promised to give me the names of his co-conspirators, and I will have those names!”

“Did I?” James spoke finally. “I must have lied. I will tell you one thing, though. All the charges of treason brought against me by the members of the East India Company, they will be dropped. Before mid-day, witnesses vanish, testimonies they burn. Demands will be met. Pride will be swallowed. And when morning becomes afternoon, then I will become a free man.”

“How would you know that?” Coop asked, sitting back in his chair and looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“The ravens just told me,” James replied, lifting his chin at the black birds flapping beyond the barred window.

Coop stood, his mouth pressed into a flat line, his nostrils flaring. “I believe little more of use will come from this conversation, Mr. Delaney.”

“Ah, one moment, Mr. Coop,” Caroline’s silk interjected. “If no formal charges are forthcoming, then I trust Mrs. Grant is free to take her betrothed home so his, er, _accidental_ injures can be treated. There is, of course, the matter of wrongful prosecution and fraud by the directors of the East India Company, which I will take up with Mr. Garrow tomorrow—”

“Oh, do your worst, Mr. Webster,” Coop snapped at the silk. “He’s free to go.”

“Much obliged, sir, much obliged.” The silk rose as Coop stormed out of the little chamber, trailed by a line of dismayed underlings.

“Mr. Coop,” James called after him.

Coop stopped, and the line of underlings pulled up short like a train of ducklings behind their mother. The man turned his head and gave James a fulminous glare. “What?” he growled.

“Tomorrow, you will thank me for today’s work.”

“I very much doubt that,” Coop snapped, before continuing his precipitous exit.

“Oh, but you will,” James said, half to himself, sinking back into the hard chair.

Caroline’s barrister moved first, offering Caroline his hand and helping her to her feet. When James began to growl at seeing another man touching his fiancée, the barrister released her hand and bowed low. “Madam, I am extremely pleased to have obtained such a speedy, successful outcome in this unfortunate matter. I will meet with the Attorney-General just as soon as I can arrange it to discuss compensation for this terrible misjudgement on the part of the Crown.”

“Thank you, Mr. Webster. I am deeply indebted to you for making yourself available at such short notice. Your advice and efforts have been invaluable and I took forward to hearing the outcome of your negotiations with Mr. Garrow. Now, if you would excuse me, I am most anxious to get Mr. Delaney home.”

“Absolutely, madam, absolutely.” The silk bowed over Caroline’s hand again. She curtseyed to him, and with a swish of his robes, he left the chamber.

The officious Mr. Beamish was next, and James had no doubt that Caroline had had to endure more than one lecture from the man. “Mrs. Grant, what a happy outcome,” the solicitor gushed.

“It will be if Mr. Delaney recovers, Mr. Beamish. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course, madam. My very best regards.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beamish. If you would be so kind as to send my men up as you leave? I believe Mr. Delaney may require assistance walking.”

“I can walk,” James demurred.

When both Caroline and the otter turned to look at him quizzically, James realised he’d spoken in _Twi_.

“I can walk,” he repeated in English.

Caroline’s look of concern deepened. “Mr. Beamish, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, of course.” The solicitor bowed and rushed from the room as quickly as his weighty whiskers and legal dignity would allow.

Caroline approached James’s chair and sank down beside him. She took one bruised, bloodied hand between hers and very, very gently, brought it to her lips. “James, what have they done to you?”

“Tortured me, madam,” James said, aware he was slurring a little. “Well and thoroughly. As torturers are wont to do.”

“Oh, James. I brought laudanum.” She rose and went to the chair where she’d been sitting, took a large reticule from the floor under the chair and brought it back to him. She fumbled a bottle out of the bag, uncapped it and offered it to him.

James took a small sip. Just enough to take the edge off the pain, but not enough to muddle his mind. _My mind’s in enough of a muddle as it is_ , he thought. _I still can’t understand how you come to be here, my darling bride_. He capped the bottle and handed it back to her. “Thank you, sweet. And thank you for what you have done for me today, but I thought we agreed that you would stay out of my business.”

“I know, James. I know I agreed to that and I know I disobeyed you, and I will do any penance you require but I couldn’t leave you in this horrible place at the mercy of that dreadful little man. I just couldn’t. I know you said you had a plan and that everything would proceed the way you intended, but I was so terribly afraid it would go awry and they wouldn’t release you.”

“So you paid those two leeches to squeeze Mr. Coop. How much did that cost, madam?”

“It was worth every penny,” Caroline said truculently.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know what you asked. More than my pearls but less than your marine chronometers, and that’s all I will say on the matter. It was absolutely worth every penny. Here you are, free to go.”

 _Indeed, hours ahead of my best plans_ , James thought. _I should be grateful for that._

They were interrupted by a pair of soldiers who clanged into the chamber. One carried James’s clothes, which the man put down on the long table, before withdrawing to stand with his fellow at attention by the door. Mr. Singh followed a few steps behind the soldiers, and he, in turn, was trailed by Caroline’s young groom.

“Oh, sir!” Thomas exclaimed, seeing James in the chair.

Mr. Singh said nothing, but James saw the man’s nostrils flare. The Indian came straight to James, unfolded a woollen blanket he was carrying and draped it around James’s shoulders. “I am here, sir. We are ready. We’ll take you home now. Everything will be well.”

James shook his head and gave the Sikh a slow smile. “I would very much like to surrender to your excellent care, but the time has come for us to part ways.” He rose, unsteadily, and offered the Indian his hand, clutching at the blanket with the other. Mr. Singh took his hand with a pained expression. “I will never forget your words to me. Whenever I have a pipe, and meditate on my _joti_ , I will think of my friend.”

“Sir.” The Sikh gripped his hand very tightly, making his bruises sing a higher note in the chorus of pain that had become a constant background roar. “Please let me do something to help you now. Anything, anything at all.”

“No, that time is passed. Mrs. Grant and I go one way, you another. Please give Mrs. Singh and your children my very warmest regards and fondest farewells.”

“I will. At least let me help you dress.”

“Aye, thank you,” James acquiesced.

With the man’s usual attention to modesty, Mr. Singh had Thomas stand between James and the rest of the room, holding up the blanket like a screen. He helped James out of the blood-stained, hooded robe. He clucked over James’s wounds, and re-wrapped the dressing on James’s right calf, which had come loose and fallen to his ankle. Then he carefully helped James into his linen, trousers, weskit, coat and hat. He buckled on James’s knives, leaving the belt loose to avoid pinching the wounds on his stomach, then draped James’s greatcoat over top. Lastly, he knelt and helped James pull first his stockings and then his boots over the bandages on his legs.

“You’re still bleeding,” the Sikh observed quietly.

“Aye. I promise to let Mrs. Grant scrub my wounds out with lye and put as many stitches in me as she pleases. But there are things I must do first.” James held out his hand to the man again. “I will remember you always.”

“And I, you. If you ever return to London, please, come find your friend.”

“I shall.” They shook one last time, then Mr. Singh drew James’s arm over his shoulders and helped him walk, a free man, out of the Tower of London.

As they emerged from the Tower’s dark door, a boy in brown wool leaped from his hiding place under a cart full of yellow pumpkins and darted across the street. He threw his arms around James’s waist, and despite the pain, James hugged him back.

“Everything’s done, sir. Just as you asked,” Robert told him.

“I know. I heard you singing.” James took a last letter, which he’d carefully carried with him, out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. “This is for Mr. Chichester. Deliver it, then meet us at my offices. Run, my good boy, there’s not much time.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert said. He gave James a squeeze, went to Caroline for a quick hug, then ran off toward the docks.

Mr. Singh guided James to a large, hired hackney. Thomas came around his other side and between them, they lifted James up into the carriage. James made no effort to sit on the wide seats, but sank onto the floor with a groan and lay on his back. While Caroline climbed in and settled her skirts, Mr. Singh spread the blanket over James.

“Where to, James?” Caroline asked softly.

“Chamber House. There’s yet one matter before we sail.”

She nodded. “Mr. Singh, if you would instruct the driver: Chamber House, Wapping Wall. Do you have enough coin for him and a coach for you and Thomas?”

“Yes, ma’am. All’s seen to. God speed, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Singh.”

The Indian lingered in the doorway of the coach, looking at Caroline and James for a long moment, with an unreadable expression. “Be safe,” he said before he closed the door. James heard him speak to the driver, and then the heavy carriage lurched into motion.

Caroline eased herself off the carriage seat and onto the floor beside James. With gentle hands, she lifted his head and laid it in her lap.

He closed his eyes when she began to stroke his brow. Her kidskin gloves were as soft as feathers against his skin.

“James,” she said quietly. “What was that last letter for? I did send to Bristol already. Captain Carver will be well on his way by now.”

“It wasn’t to the good captain. It was to the King’s Commissioner. It’s the location of an account of Strange’s treason by my friend Godfrey, if all’s gone according to plan. The knot in Strange’s noose.”

“Is your vengeance achieved, then, my darling man?”

James nodded. “It is done.” _Whether or not the East India falls is out of my hands now, but the dominoes are tumbling_.

“And we’re off. For the final leg of the race.”

James opened one eye and peered up at her. “I hope you will obey me better on this leg than you did the last one.”

“Oh, James—” she protested, looking down into his face.

He grunted, unappeased, but closed his eye. “We will part at Chamber House and you will go to the docks, where you’ll wait for our ship. Once it arrives, you’ll board and lock yourself in my cabin until we’re away. I swear, Caroline, if I see so much as a single golden hair peeping out, I'll make you walk the plank.”

“James!”

“If you argue with me now,” he growled. “I’ll put you over my knee and thrash you until you can do nothing but curl in a ball and whimper. Don’t think me too hurt to do it, either.”

She snorted. “I wasn’t going to argue with you. I was going to offer you my pistol before we part ways, but as you are in a foul mood, I don’t think you should be given firearms.”

“If I am in a foul mood, it’s because I’ve had most of the skin scraped off my stomach and legs. Allow me slight distemper, madam.”

“Allowed, sir.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “May I dress those wounds when we reach your house?”

“Briefly, and without lye. I need to be able to walk. I’ll let you scald and scour me once we’re away. Once you’ve patched me up, you must be on your way to meet our ship. Make sure they’re loading the powder into the hold and then lock yourself in my cabin. Am I clearly understood?”

“Yes, James.”

He sighed. Reaching up out of the blanket, he stroked her cheek. “Thank you, sweet. And thank you for everything you have done, everything you have endured to be with your lion. But I cannot risk you. You must be safe.”

“I understand, James.” She lifted her face to the golden mid-morning light streaming through the carriage windows. “I can taste it. The salt air.”

“Tomorrow, and for many, many days hence, you will wake up to that taste, you'll fall asleep with it on your lips. I hope you like the taste of brine.”

“I do, actually. I’ve always been partial to sea air. Very invigorating.”

For the very first time, James found himself unable to think about invigoration with anything like pleasure. _After all these years_ , he thought. _I’ve finally discovered a remedy for lust. I need only to have half my skin removed, be drowned and poisoned. Not a remedy I recommend_.

“Tell me what you did last night in my absence,” James said. When she did, James let himself drift to the rocking of the carriage, her stroking of his brow, and her soft voice.

*

He woke when the carriage stopped. Caroline gently lowered his head to the floor before she climbed out over him and called to the driver, who helped her get James vertical again. Leaning on Caroline for support, he limped heavily up the path and stairs, into the house.

There was a letter on the side-table addressed to him that he collected as he passed. There was no fire in the drawing room and no sign of Brace or Lorna.

“Point me towards the kitchen,” Caroline said as she helped him into one of the big, stiff wingchairs. James sank onto the horsehair cushion, not caring how hard it was, or speckled with canary shit. He pointed at the stairs through the dining room with one gloved hand.

While Caroline went to retrieve soap, water and rags, James opened and read the letter from his sister. He read it twice, letting the words sink in, then slumped back in his chair with a groan.

Caroline returned carrying a pitcher, basin and a bundle of cloth under her arm. She knelt at James’s feet and set her implements on the floor beside her. “Where’s the worst, James?” she asked.

“My calves,” he admitted. He put his gloved hand over his face so she couldn’t see his expression. _Let her think it’s the pain. I don’t want her to think it’s because I still care too much about my sister_.

Caroline eased off his boots and stockings, folded back his trousers, unwrapped the loose bandages and cleaned the long wounds in his legs with soap and water. James winced and grumbled at the pain, but it didn’t distract him from his thoughts. _She’s gone_ , he thought, and felt ashamed of his own relief. _Is she? Did she write that letter just to draw me in again, or is she really gone? If she threw herself into the river, why didn’t I feel it? Why didn’t I dream it along with all the other dreams of the night?_

“I’m almost done, dear man,” Caroline said softly from between his knees. “It’s almost over.”

James closed his eyes and tipped his head back, crushing the brim of his hat against the seat-back, not caring. He barely felt what she was doing to his legs, and the pain was nothing to the crushing, tearing, grinding pressure in his chest. _She’s gone. I lost her somehow to that deaf stone she worshipped. She should have worshipped me, the way Caroline does. No, she cannot be gone_.

“There, all done,” Caroline said, drawing his stockings back over the fresh bandages. “I’ll stitch those properly once we’re aboard. James, do you want me to see to your stomach, or your poor hands?”

“No, my darling.” _My darling is dead. No, she was never my darling. She was my love, but she was never mine. She never wanted to be mine_. “You must go. I must go, and we will meet again very shortly aboard the _Fair Felice_.”

“Yes, very well.” Caroline rose and eased off his hat and kissed him on the forehead. James didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t let her see what was in them. “Do you want me to leave you the carriage? I can find another.”

“You take it. I’ll walk a little way to clear my head, then hail a hackney. Go, my lioness, there’s little time.”

She cradled his head in her hands and drew him to her breast. “I will see you very soon, James.”

He clasped her close. “You will,” he promised.

She let him slump back into the seat, and kissed his forehead a final time, before she left in the soft swishing of her skirts. James waited until he heard the door close behind her before he picked up his sister’s letter and read it a final time. He tossed it onto the footstool in disgust and let his head fall back on the headrest.

Lorna’s loud entry pulled him back out of a swirling grey haze. He looked at his watch. He’d been lost, or unconscious, for a half an hour. Caroline should be boarding, and he had precious little time to resolve the last of his business before the turn of the tide. Still, he could not bestir himself.

Lorna threw the letter of safe passage on top of his sister’s letter, and jabbered at him. She could have been speaking _Bantu_ for all he understood her. He stared at her, through her. She picked up his sister’s letter and read it.

“If she were dead, I would know it,” James said, still lost in the haze, still wondering if his sister was alive or dead. _Either way, she’s mocking me_ , he thought. “I would hear her. I would feel it. As if there were a door were open in this very house.”

“James—“ Lorna closed her eyes briefly.

 _She doesn’t understand_ , he thought. _No one does. No, Caroline tries to. I will explain it to her, if I ever see her again_. He had a good idea of what was to come as they tried to sail. He’d done what he could to protect his bride, but knew he himself would have no protection and that his survival would be purely a matter of chance and poor marksmanship.

Lorna was looking at him again. Frowning. Expecting him to explain.

“No, no,” James said, denying something, although he wasn’t sure what. Through the stretch and strain of his thoughts, he saw Zilpha standing on Blackfriar’s Bridge, wearing the fashionable weeds she’d worn to see him. She turned, as if looking over her shoulder at him, and then let herself fall. _Did she? Is this just another one of her games_? “If she was in the river, she would sing to me. And I would hear her.”

Lorna held up the letter. “Her words are very certain.”

“How do I not know?”

“Because the dead don’t sing.” Lorna tossed the letter onto the footstool and turned away from him.

 _Oh, but they do. They sing, and howl, and shriek, for those whose ears and minds are open_. “Then how do I hear them?” James asked, groping himself now, for some understanding.

“That is a question to be asked and answered in America, is it not?” Lorna said, sitting in the tattered armchair that was a mate of his. James didn’t answer her; he didn’t have any answer. “Tide’s rising,” she continued. “You’ve lots of people waiting for you. People who have given up everything for you, James.” She looked at him, but James couldn’t meet her eyes. “Tide ebbs, she’ll still be gone. Tide won’t bring her back. We can just sit here in these rotting chairs in this shitty house and die lie rats, like your father.”

James turned away and put his hand over his face again. His temples pounded as they had during the worst of his gin nightmares.

“You ought to go to Nootka,” Lorna said quietly. “If anything, it’s a fine day to die at sea.”

 _I’m not going to die today_ , James thought. _Caroline’s not going to die today. Robert’s not going to die today. We’re going to sail away and be a family. Somehow, somehow, I will explain this to Caroline. She forgave me before. She’ll forgive me for this, for being the death of my sister. She’ll take away my pain, the way she always does, the way no one but she ever has_.

James hauled himself to his feet.

“I have some unfinished business to take care of,” he grunted at Lorna, picking up the letter of safe passage as he passed her. “I’ll be back. We’ll board together.”

He limped out of the house, down to the stable and saddled his horse. His good horse, who had brought him back from the darkness before, and would again. He patted the grey as he saddled it, crooning to it, telling the horse what a good horse it was and how it would have apples every day from now on. Then he mounted up and rode north, to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

*

The horse trotted more smoothly than James could remember, a flow like silk over skin, leaping to the next hoof before the previous one fully hit the ground. Certainly not its terrible gait while he was drunk, catching its hooves on every cobble. He felt no pain as he rode, in fact, he felt stronger and more certain, the further he got away from his father’s house, and his sister’s letter.

By the time he reached St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, he was steady. He aped more pain than he actually felt as he limped into the doctor’s lair.

“God,” Dumbarton said, seeing him. “You look like you need laudanum.” He set down the length of cloth he’d been inspecting and moved past James to a cabinet of medicines on the wall.

James let the man pass, although he was sorely tempted to swipe at the doctor with one of his knives. “I have an hour. I need to be on the water by high tide.”

“You have a ship?” Dumbarton asked, blinking at him incredulously.

 _Indeed I do_ , James thought. _Your countrywoman’s ship, which she’s clearly told you nothing of. Because she doesn’t trust you. She never has. And she has always had the right of it_. A sudden shock of realisation rippled through James. _You are why Caroline was going to Paris to meet with Mr. Crawford. She discovered your treachery and was going to reveal it to her superiors. But she gave up those plans, to come with me. So I will take care of this loose end for her, as any good husband would do for a cause so close to his wife’s heart._

“This laudanum is diluted somewhat with burdock, so you can continue to function.” The doctor passed James a vial of dark liquid. “But I doubt you’d be able to steer a ship to America. You have people with you?”

James grunted and pretended to drink the painkiller. He tucked the almost full vial into his coat pocket.

“Mr. Delaney, I’m sure you’re probably expecting me to hand you a letter of safe passage. But I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. Nothing in this war between cousins is simple. There’s just a small hurdle you have to leap over first.”

Dumbarton unrolled a piece of parchment, written in the fine, even hand of a trained clerk. _Possibly even the otter’s clerk, or one of Thoyt’s_ , James thought. _Although the East India has many clerks of its own_. “Take a look,” the doctor offered.

“It’s a deed of transfer,” James said, without looking. “Transferring my title to Nootka Sound to the East India Company, and your friend, Stuart Strange.” James grunted. _That’s why Strange gave me that smug smile as he left the Tower. He thought he had an ace in the hole. A way to snatch the prize of China from the loss of India. But I never leave anything to chance, old man_.

James lifted his gloved hand and pointed a finger at Dumbarton. “When I first met you, you told me that a sheep can be meat, but it can also be wool. First the code eluded me, but then I realised it’s not even a code, is it? You’re simply somebody’s meat boy. You present yourself as an agent of the Free States of America, like a good little sheep. But long since, you’ve been dangled in front of the King of England by the East India Company, hmm? Now you’re scrabbling, desperate, pulling your wool over everybody’s eyes. Possibly even your own.”

_But not Caroline’s. Not my insightful wife-to-be. She knows what you are, and what I am, and she has never flinched from either._

Dumbarton looked away, and James saw shame colour the man’s high cheeks. “Does it even matter?” the doctor asked.

“No,” James admitted. He pulled himself up and crossed to the table where Dumbarton stood, still holding open the deed of transfer.

Dumbarton leaned over the table. “No one in this city has only one master.”

James shook his head. “Pen.”

When Dumbarton reached for a quill, James grabbed him around the neck and slammed the man’s forehead into the table. The doctor slumped, unconscious, dragging the deed off the table with him when James released him.

“I do,” James told the doctor’s limp form. _And now Caroline does, because I have freed her from her last duty to her country_.

He dragged the man into the dying room and tipped the vial of laudanum with which the turncoat had intended to drug him into the doctor’s mouth. He held the man’s chin until he saw the doctor’s throat work involuntarily, then James went in search of bucket and dye.

Dragging a bucket of blue dye back to the doctor, James lifted him carefully and positioned him over the bucket, then pushed the man’s head under the water and held it there until the bubbles stopped. He knew Dumbarton would feel nothing, not even the slow fading of the light that James himself had experienced so many times. James straightened, stretching out his cramped back, while he waited for the doctor to finish drowning. A shaft of sunlight streaming in from one of the hospital’s high windows dazzled him.

His eyes, filled with golden light, blurred. His mind, warped and stretched and twisted by the previous hours, slid from his control.

“James. I came back.” He heard Zilpha’s voice, as her black-shrouded form drifted down towards him through green water. Her voice was clearer in his ears than Caroline’s had been in all the dark hours of the night. _The dead sing loudest_ , James thought. “You told me you loved me.”

“My sister,” he murmured.

She swam down to him, her hair and widow’s silks rippling around her in the current. She grasped his face with fingers cold and slippery and strong as eels.

“James.” She kissed him, pressing fish-lips against his. He met them, trying to give her his living warmth, but there was nothing but water and bubbles between them. “We shall meet again.”

She sank, further into the green depths, leaving him behind.

James blinked and turned his face from the light.

He finished his work with the good doctor, leaving a grisly tableaux for the Company to find. He had some hope that Strange would discover it himself, as his cronies should be on their way to meet their Maker, if all proceeded the way James anticipated. _But if not, the report should be enough to make him shiver, as he waits for the King’s men to come for him_.

James hauled himself heavily up the steps from the doctor’s lair in the hospital’s basement, and went to reclaim his horse for the ride back to Chamber House.

His horse, his good horse, took him back to his father’s house a final time, trotting with that silk-smooth gait. Even once James collected Lorna and drew her up before him on the horse, the animal didn’t protest, just walked smoothly and sedately to the docks with its double burden.

At the docks, James said a final good-bye to his mount and gave the last of the coin in his pockets to an urchin to lead the animal back to Caroline’s where it could grow fat carrying newlyweds as part of Thomas’s stable. _A fitting reward_ , James thought, as he watched the horse led away.

“Where are you keeping everyone?” Lorna asked him.

“In there,” James said, pointing to one of his family’s unused sheds, in front of which several of Atticus’s ruffians and Brace were gathered.

Brushing her curls back from her forehead in what James recognised as a nervous gesture, Lorna went to join the other members of the odd band he’d gathered. Beyond the shed, James could see the masts of a schooner. The buildings of the wharf hid the deck from his view.

James collared Atticus. “Mrs. Grant?”

Atticus nodded. “Safely aboard, along with some white puffball yer boy insisted on bringing.” He handed James his pistols. “Fifteen minutes until high tide.”

James smiled to hear of the success of the white cat hunt. “And the powder?” He checked the pistols.

“Fifty-five kegs on board, fifteen on the dock and two in the water.”

“Right. When we are sixteen-ten, I need you to take the pilgrims and put them on the ship, before the ebb.” James saw Brace begin to move towards the shed. “Where are you going?”

“To explain the plans,” Brace said.

“I don’t want you to tell them the plans. Besides, you’re not coming.”

Brace stared at him in shock. “What?”

“Brace, you have always been my father’s man in my father’s world. We’re headed to my mother’s now.”

“James, tell me this, too, is mercy. I’m an old man. I would never survive. Tell me that’s the reason.”

James met the old man’s watery gaze, and lied.

Robert interrupted their confrontation, running to James. “The soldiers are here.”

Atticus grabbed the boy by the collar and steered him away, down the dock, toward the ship. “Tell them to hurry up with that cargo and get on board, you. Hurry up, all of you!”

They split into the covers and hides that Atticus and his men had created with barrels, sandbags and overturned carts. James heard several of the men praying. James had been through too many battles to pray. He merely gripped his guns and waited for the battle to begin.

Cholmondeley struck the first blow, triggering the explosives he’d set around the gateway into the docks. James and two of Atticus’s men formed a line and shot a volley into the soldiers who staggered through the door, dazed and disoriented by the explosion. Four men fell. Cholmondeley, showing a great deal more courage than James would have expected from the little man, rushed forward and threw another explosive device into the scattered soldiers. James reloaded as smoke overwhelmed the soldiers and shot again before falling back.

James gave the spent muskets to another of Atticus’s men to reload and checked his watch. As he did so, French Bill caught his elbow. “Tide’s about to turn, James,” the bearded man said, confirming what James’s watch had told him.

“Go get them. Put them on the ship now.”

James moved behind a pile of sandbags as the soldiers, having regrouped, rushed across the short bridge into the main dock. He took aim, but withheld fire.

Someone lost their nerve and fired at the running soldiers. _They’ll hit nothing_ , James thought, knowing how difficult it was to hit a moving target. The soldiers lined up for an ineffective volley against the sandbagged positions. But their fire provided cover for their infantry, who rushed forward with swords and bayonets. The swordsmen quickly overwhelmed the sandbagged positions and James found himself fighting with pistols and knives while all around him, Atticus’s men fell to the redcoats’ steel. He watched Atticus’s towering brother-in-law pick up a redcoat, throw him to the ground and grind the man’s face into a muddy puddle. Choking on the memory of his own, recent drowning, James put a shot through the soldier’s head to end his torment, before turning to slash his knife across a charging soldier’s neck.

He heard, rather than saw, Cholmondeley fall, the chemist’s scream as he was set alight by his own explosives reminding James of Caroline’s dying-rabbit scream. Both were the death-sounds of a creature in unbearable pain, and James could not turn away from either. He rushed to the downed man and dragged him away from the battle, down the stone pier towards the ship. Atticus ran up beside him and grabbed Cholmondeley’s other arm.

They both dropped Cholmondeley to the ground and dived for cover behind a stack of crates when a group of redcoats appeared at the far end of the dock and opened fire.

James tried to peer around the stack to gauge the soldiers' numbers and nearly got his face shot off for his trouble. Splinters from the wooded crates stung his cheek as he ducked back behind the stack. He could hear the soldiers' heavy breathing, the metallic noises as they reloaded, but he could get no gauge of their numbers from his position.

French Bill rounded the corner of the dock at a dead run, and dived behind Cholmondeley’s limp form when the soldiers opened fire on him.

“How many?” James mouthed to him.

Bill held up three fingers, although James was not at all sure the man could count.

The man-mountain Atticus had named Cole rounded the corner, holding more of Cholmondeley’s fizzing explosives. The huge man tossed them at the soldiers’ position and James broke cover to follow the man’s attack with pistol-fire. Atticus yelled to Bill, who grabbed Cholmondeley, and the four of them ran for the ship, following behind Cole’s unstoppable charge.

More soldiers poured down the pier, and James knew whatever rear guard they’d had, had fallen. He grabbed one side of the gangway. Atticus grabbed the other, and together they pulled it aboard while yelling at the crew to cast off.

James felt the lurch as the ship was freed of the last of its lines. The sails luffed, then billowed taut, and the _Fair Felice_ surged away from Wapping Wall into the Thames’s current.

James sagged against the wheelhouse and watched the pier recede. Smoke and the occasional shot puthered from the dock, but they were too far away to do any harm.

James traded nods with Atticus and French Bill, then went to find his family. Before he could reach the door to the cabins, it opened, and a familiar, turbaned figure appeared. The man’s bearded face split into a wide, white grin as he saw James.

James could muster no surprise, only a huge answering smile. He held out his hands and the Sikh moved to him, caught him in a hug that James knew was tempered with care for his injuries. James patted the man’s back. “My friend.”

“Reassure Mrs. Grant that you have survived and let me show my children London from this vantage, and then I will tend to you properly, sir,” Mr. Singh said.

James patted the man’s back again, then stepped back to allow him to join his family, who had clustered at the ship’s rail.

A young man followed the Singhs onto the deck, and closed the cabin door behind him. He was too well-dressed to be one of Atticus’s ruffians: in a merchant’s blue serge with brass buttons, a black tricorn pulled snugly over a long, blond queue. His cheeks were clean-shaven, revealing a jaw as delicate as Godfrey’s. For a moment, James wondered if Godfrey had brought along his lover, or if the Company had somehow snuck one of its coves into his crew.

Then James met the youth’s pale blue eyes. A shock of recognition ran through him. He shook his head and beckoned to her.

Caroline walked across the deck to him, her hips rolling easily to the ship’s motion, sure-footed in fine, knee-high boots. James took in her expression as she approached. She wasn’t smiling, victorious in her transgression. She was red-eyed and sombre.

James held out his arm to her and tucked her to his side when she joined him. When he did, he could feel her trembling, although he could also feel how hard she was trying to control it.

“We’re away, madam,” he said softly to her, his words blending into the creak of the ropes, the cries of the gulls. “We’ve survived, and we’re away.”

Caroline took off her tricorn, turned so she could bury her face in his shoulder, and clutched him tightly. “Robert, I lost him in the smoke.”

“He’s below with the others.”

She nodded against his coat. “I wasn’t sure.”

“He’s fine. We’re away. It’s all right now, Caroline,” he said soothingly. But his words did not soothe her. If anything, her trembling increased. “Madam? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong? Did the noise and smoke frighten you? It’s over now. You’re safe.”

“James—” she said brokenly.

“I know the sound and smell of battle is frightening, my darling, but it’s behind us now—”

“I had to,” she choked. “He was aiming at Miss Bow.”

“Who, who was aiming at Miss Bow?”

“A soldier. I shot him. Through the stern window. I shot him . . . through the eye.”

“Ah, Caroline.” He stroked her back and held her close. “That’s why I wanted you safe in the cabin.”

“He was aiming at Miss Bow,” Caroline whispered again.

“I know.” James rubbed her back helplessly. There was nothing he could say to make it right. To undo what she had seen and done; or restore the life she’d taken. He remembered his first kill on the _Asante_ battle line. A boy probably a decade younger than James himself, lacking any of the ritual scarification with which the tribesmen decorated themselves to celebrate their battle prowess. Probably just as green and terrified as James. James had crushed the boy’s head with a stone club he’d made the night before, and then stood weeping over the body while the battle raged around him. “Look there,” he murmured to her, tipping his chin at the open river before them. “Look to the horizon, my fierce lioness. There is our future. Do you see it?”

“Yes, James.” She lifted her head and watched the horizon with him, and after long minutes, her tremors began to subside. James held her close even after she stood steady. Her embrace made him freshly aware of the wound in his side. Standing with her made him aware of the blood seeping down his legs to coagulate, sticky and gritty, in his boots. But he did nothing to move away. He took deep breaths of the salty air, and gloried in their freedom.

“Shall we go find Robert?” he asked her at last.

She nodded. “But we must do something about the Singhs. We must put them off at Gravesend.”

“We cannot stop, Caroline. We may be pursued, and the King’s men will certainly send word to Gravesend and the other ports. We are only safe once we’re out of British waters. Stopping would put us all at risk. Besides, why would you want to put them off? Thank whatever kind fate made them follow you. We’ll eat something better than salt beef for three months with Mrs. Singh aboard.”

“No, James. They mustn’t come. Their little girl is only six and—”

“Shh, darling. Mr. Singh and I discussed this. He’s aware, and he must have decided that the reward of the New World is worth the risk. Don’t embarrass him by questioning his decision. When we reach Philadelphia, we’ll offer them a place in our new home. I, for one, am very, very glad to have them along.”

“Oh.” Caroline rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m still not thinking very clearly, I’m afraid.”

“Easy, my dove,” James reassured her. “It will pass.”

“Will it?” She looked up into his face. “I keep seeing it. That moment when my bullet took him through the eye. The back of his head . . . the blood. It was awful, James.”

“Yes, sweet, it is.” He kissed her forehead and stroked her head back down onto his shoulder. “But it’s over and done now, and we’re away.”

 _We’re away_ , James repeated to himself. _Battered and bloodied, but we’re away. Together, we’ll put what we’ve done to escape England behind us and look to the horizon. To our future, to Philadelphia, to Nootka, and some day, to China_.

He held her in silence for several more minutes, both of them watching the horizon, a line of sea still bordered by land as they sailed through the tidal marshes toward the open ocean.

Finally, Caroline moved restlessly against him and James released her. They descended into the smallest hold, where the sailors would sleep, and found the pilgrims clustered around two cots.

Robert rose from beside Lorna’s cot and rushed to them, hugging first Caroline and then James. James kept the boy against his side, and Caroline tight to the other, as he checked on the wounded. Lorna was bloody, but her arm had been bound. He hoped the shot had been removed, or gone through, else it would fester. He would check after he’d tended his own wounds.

Cholmondeley lay face-down in another bunk, his blackened face and back exposed to the air. James squeezed his eyes shut at the sight.

When he opened them, he glanced at Caroline. She was looking up at him. She shook her head a very little, and James nodded in acknowledgement.

“Robert,” Caroline said gently. “Shall we go upstairs and find Snowball? I had to leave her in the cabin.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy quickly agreed and James could tell he wanted to be away from the close space, with its smells of blood and burned flesh, as badly as James himself did.

He released his family and let them retreat up the ladder, while he moved to first to Lorna. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and registered his presence, then closed her eyes again.

As he straightened, he heard Cholmondeley’s broken whisper. Godfrey, in wig and gown, bent over the terribly burned man, and gave him the lie that would ease him back down into unconsciousness.

James moved to stand beside the pair. “There will be laudanum in his things,” he said to Godfrey. “Give him as much as he needs to sleep without pain.”

Godfrey nodded. James touched his shoulder, then retreated up the ladder himself.

Back on deck, he found Caroline directing the rigging, while Robert stood beside her, clutching a white ball of fur. As he watched them, he heard Atticus shuffle up beside him. He glanced at the sailor, taking in his mask of blood, and his unrelentingly cheerful expression.

“She’s a good old girl,” Atticus said. “America?”

“No,” James answered. “Ponta Delgada in the Azores. I need to see a man called Colonnade.” _Who can help me obtain the monopoly on tea from the Americans that the Crown denied me_.

“I thought the gunpowder was for the Americans.”

James smiled at his little family. “We are Americans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James refers to Godfrey being his 'fag' during the meeting with Strange in this chapter. For readers who are unfamiliar with this term, this is not a reference to Godfrey’s sexual preference. At the time, and to some extent, still, it was a common practice in British boarding schools for younger boys to act as servants for older boys. This was known as ‘fagging,’ the younger boy as the ‘fag,’ and the older boy as the ‘fag-master.’ Although the subject of some salacious speculation, there’s not much actual evidence that ‘fagging’ involved sexual favours. It was more about discipline and maintaining the rigid social order. I have James use the reference to establish his long relationship with Godfrey, and impress Godfrey’s loyalty to him on Strange. I hope it doesn't offend anyone.


End file.
